


Mabel Turns the Time-Tables

by PresidentStalkeyes



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Adult Mabel Pines, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Badass Mabel Pines, Canon Divergence - Dipper and Mabel vs. the Future, Contains Illustrations, Demonic Possession, Episode: s02e17 Dipper and Mabel vs. the Future, Family, Ford is Still Kind of a Jerk Because he's Pre-Character Development (He Gets Better), Future anxiety, Gen, Humor, My Future Self and Me, Time Travel, Warning: Alcohol, warning: blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28987032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PresidentStalkeyes/pseuds/PresidentStalkeyes
Summary: Mabel Pines is having the worst day of her life. The end of summer is rapidly approaching, and with it, the promise of bitter, gruelling adulthood, ready to suck the life out of her; and her brother's not going to be there to help her through it. She wishes summer would last just a little longer, just enough to work things out.Bill Cipher is all set to grant her wish in his unique Cipher-esque way, until a tall, rosy-cheeked young woman appears out of nowhere and punches his mortal vessel in the face. A woman who claims to have lived through what Mabel is living through. Literally. She says Mabel shouldn't be afraid of growing up, but she's not sure she'd even believe herself.(UPDATE: 2/8/2021: Chapter 4 has been re-written.)
Relationships: Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines, Ford Pines & Mabel Pines, Jesus "Soos" Alzamirano Ramirez & Mabel Pines, Mabel Pines & Future Mabel Pines, Mabel Pines & Stan Pines, Pacifica Northwest & Ford Pines, Pacifica Northwest/Dipper Pines (Implied), Stan Pines & Blendin Blandin, Wendy Corduroy & Dipper Pines
Comments: 34
Kudos: 40





	1. Dynamic Entry

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note before I begin - if anyone reading this is also following The Pines Down Under, don't worry, I am still working on that (I took a break because I had a long-overdue uni project I needed to finish). I wrote this as an experiment to see if I could fit more content into a smaller word-count, because I'm kinda long-winded.
> 
> This was inspired by Timestuck AU fics, particularly Five Minutes Older by thesnadger, hands down one of my favourite fanfics in general. I noticed there were a lot of stories about Mabel and/or Dipper from the show's present going back in time, but surprisingly not much about future versions of the kids going back to the present... or past, I suppose it'd be for them. Time travel, why you gotta be so complicated?
> 
> Also, shout-out to the Gravity Falls wiki for providing us with the transcript for Dipper and Mabel Vs. The Future, since the first half of this opening is basically just a novelization of the scene where Mabel hands over the rift (which has been done before, I know). I still re-watched that episode to get the feeling down, but I stopped just before the bit where Billendin breaks it because it's just too intense after that.

“Only party chocolate can cheer me up now…”

Mabel rummaged through what she thought was her backpack, expecting to find some desperately-needed sugary treats. If there’s one thing in this world she can count on right now - possibly the _only_ thing - it’s sugar. Sugar gave her life when she didn’t have any. Sugar made sure she was happy for everyone - more than ever, she needed it.

Instead, all she found were reminders of a certain someone from the Shack she just ran from.

“Nerd books? Chewed-up pens?” she said, rummaging through her brother’s knick-knacks. “Ugh, wrong backpack.”

She finally let the backpack fall to the ground as she leaned up against the tree behind her. Great, now she can’t even count on sugar being there for her. It was if the world _wanted_ to let her know how much the future is going to suck.

“Not fair. I just wish summer could last forever…”

She’d managed to hold back tears for a minute or so, but now that she was out here, alone, facing the ruins of what was meant to be another happy day in Gravity Falls, she couldn’t do it anymore. She pulled her collar up to hairline and disappeared into Sweater Town, flooding it with her squeaky sobs.

For what must have been the eighteen-millionth time since she’d run away, images of the future that lay ahead of her played out in her mind. Her friends drifting away. Stuck-up high school kids laughing at her, calling her a weirdo who still likes glitter and rainbows and kittens. Her beloved Grunkles never being happy with each other ever again, because Ford is stuck in the basement being a grumpy nerd and Stan is gonna get kicked to the curb for the crime of wasting 30 years bringing Ford back (she'd heard everything, she just hadn't said anything about it to Dipper because she naively hoped they'd get over it quickly). Soos and Wendy losing the Shack because the Shack wouldn’t be the Shack anymore, which probably meant this would be the _last_ summer she could spend here. 

And what lay beyond even that? Growing into a gross, bitter adult after having every millilitre of happiness drained from her by high school? Having to pay taxes and listen to all the horrible grown-up stuff that happens on the news? Not even knowing what she wanted to do with her life? Dipper has everything figured out. Mabel? She’d be lucky if she could even figure out what the heck a mortgage is.

But worst of all, by far - Dipper wouldn’t be there. She thought she could count on him to keep her grounded and somewhat sane, forever and always. Instead he runs off with a grumpy old nerd he’s known for less than a month. Ugh. Maybe she’s being stupid, she thinks. Dipper’s already done nothing but make sacrifices for her this whole summer… maybe if she goes back to the Shack now, they can talk things out…

“That might be possible!” a raspy voice echoed across the woods. Mabel realized that it’s barely been three seconds since she last spoke, despite all the thoughts that raced through her head.

“Sweater Town is _not_ accepting incoming calls right now,” was all Mabel could say, barely even caring what creepy forest monster said that.

“M-M-M-Mabel, it’s me,” the voice said again, getting closer.

Mabel’s head emerged from Sweater Town. It was someone she knew? “What? Who said that?” she said to whoever it was. There was only one person she’d ever met who stammered this much, and it wasn’t anyone from town... 

“I-I-I can help!” the voice said yet again, accompanied by the sound of static, as a human-shaped blob of air walked up - the illusion of invisibility disappearing to reveal a familiar figure; a mostly-bald, stocky guy in a grey jumpsuit, eyes concealed by dark goggles.

“The time travel guy? What are you doing here?”

“You said you don’t want summer to end, right? D-did-did I hear that right?” Blendin asked, sounding slightly less… anxious and panicky than usual. This was… weird.

“Yeah… why are you asking?”

“Look, maybe it's against the rules, but you once did a favour for me, so I thought I could help you out,” Blendin said, confidently. Maybe getting his job back after Globnar provided some much needed therapy? “It's called a time bubble, and it prevents time from going forward. Summer in Gravity Falls can last as long as you want it to!”

Mabel wiped the tears from her eyes. She was definitely _curious_ now; knowing Blendin, he probably doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, but…

“R-really? But how does it work?”

“I just need you to get a little gizmo for me from your uncle,” he continued, holding up a techy wristwatch, displaying a glowing holographic image of… some sci-fi snowglobe thingy? “It's something small. He won't even know it's missing.”

“Huh…” Mabel went, now even more curious as to where this was going. She still wasn’t sure what was even going on; Blendin hadn’t even answered her question. Maybe he needed to _build_ the time bubble? That snowglobe thing does _look_ like a bubble.

“Maybe Dipper has something like that in his nerd bag,” she said, rummaging through his stuff again - and sure enough, there it was. Much bigger and grimier than the hologram had made it look, and it had this starry, swirling pattern inside it, like that cosmic glitter stuff she always sees in 70s-themed furniture stores, except it was swirling around on its own. She lifted it up, noting how heavy it was. ...This _probably_ wasn’t a snowglobe, was it?

“Huh. That's... odd. This it?”

“Yes, that's it! Just hand it over and I'll do my thing. Unless you're ready to leave Gravity Falls…” Blendin said, smiling, his brow perking up in anticipation.

Mabel stopped to think. She’d gotten this far out of sheer curiosity, but did she _really_ want to freeze time? She thought back to everything that had happened over the summer. Letting Sev’ral Timez go free. Sacrificing her sock opera to save her brother from Bill. Almost getting Grunkle Stan arrested for tax fraud by forcing Truth-Telling Teeth into his mouth. She knows she shouldn’t mess around with Weird stuff to solve her problems, and she shouldn’t treat her friends and family like playthings, but… maybe they’d be fine with it? If she explained herself? It’s not like Dipper hasn’t done something like this before; he’d summoned a bunch of zombies to prove to those government guys he was legit, he’d understand. 

Heck, maybe it’d do them some good. The Grunkles could do with the extra time to work things out. _She_ could do with more time to figure out her future with Dipper, and so could he. It’s not like summer would _literally_ have to last forever. Just a _bit_ longer. Maybe a couple days. A month, _at most._ Then she’d be ready. They’d all be ready.

She made up her mind. “...Just a little more summer…” she said, as she prepared to hand it to him.

As Blendin reached out to grab it, however, she could see his ear twitch - there was a noise approaching. Another noise. The sound of heavy footsteps and even heavier breath, ruffling among the leaves.

“Wh-what’s that noise?” he asked, turning.

**_“DYNAMIC ENTRY!”_ **

Then, almost out of nowhere, a huge, pink blur of a person leapt in from the bushes and slammed a fist right into Blendin’s face. With a sickening ‘crack’, Blendin spun on his feet and fell to the ground face-first, scattering bits of pine needles and acorns everywhere.

It happened so fast and so suddenly, a startled Mabel instinctively pushed herself back against the tree, clutching the techno-snowglobe close to her chest. She stared at Blendin’s form on the ground - he was still alive, but apparently unconscious, only his finger twitching. She swore she could see droplets of blood fly from the poor guy’s nose…

 _“YES!”_ the mysterious attacker jubilantly yelled. “IN YOUR _ONE-EYED FACE,_ YOU EVIL NACHO!”

Mabel turned to face the new figure. A tall woman dressed in mostly pink, with short brown hair, well-built muscles, and a good deal of chubby padding on top of that. One of her arms was covered in tattoos. She was exhausted - sweat poured down her face, and she almost keeled over trying to catch her breath.

Before Mabel could say anything to her, the new figure turned to her first. “Ah! Mabel, listen to me… that… that snowglobe thingy, it’s… it’s… ugh, my chest…” she stopped to clutch her chest, “note to self… never… run… again…”

Mabel’s eyes widened in alarm. “Whuh… how do you know my name? _What the heck just happened?!”_

The woman finally managed to stand up straight, holding up her strong palms. “Listen. That snowglobe thingy is, like… a tear in dimensions! The time-travel guy was possessed by the triangle guy, and he was trying to trick you into handin’ it over! He was gonna break it and use it to come into this world and start the apocalypse and trap m- _you_ in a big ol’ bubble where summer never ends ‘cause it’s all gross and fake-happy and you’ll get brainwashed and invent a dumb 90s mascot version of your brother who spouts catchphrases that makes me wanna break his neck and while that’s goin’ on everyone else is gettin’ turned to stone and bein’ made into gearsticks and forced to live off rat meat an’ Toby Determined thinks he can rock a punk-hawk _and it’s all your fault!”_

The woman rattled all that off so quickly, Mabel swore her eyes were spinning; she barely understood anything past ‘the time-travel guy was possessed by the triangle guy’.

“Wait, what?! _WHAT?!_ I… I was about to… to…”

“AUGH, _forget it!”_ the woman snapped, “look, just get back to the Shack and give that stupid rift to your brother!”

As she said this, she reached down to Blendin’s - or Bill-endin’s, if she was telling the truth - unconscious body, ripping his Time Tape from his belt. She threw it violently on the ground and stomped on it with a cherry-pink boot, crumpling it into a useless hunk of sparking metal, a slightly worrying look of glee on her round, rosy-cheeked face. Then she removed what looked like some heavy electrical cables from her pockets and tied Billendin’s hands and feet together, restraining him.

“WOAH, _WOAH,_ time-out! No pun intended!” Mabel cut in, feeling tears forming at her eyes again. “I-I have so many questions, like who even are you, how do you know all this stuff, but… b-but are you saying I was… I was about to cause an apocalypse just to get one more day of summer?!”

 _“YES!_ That’s exactly what I’m sayin’!” the woman snapped again, walking in closer. Mabel tensed up. “Look, if you’re not gonna give that rift back to your bro-bro, then _I will!”_

She reached in and tried to snatch the snowglobe thingy - or ‘rift’ - away from her. Mabel tried to scoot back, but with a tree behind her it was doomed from the start.

“WHAT?! _NO WAY!”_ she screamed, tears streaming from her eyes once more - at this point, mostly at just how screwed up this day had gotten. “Ya think I’d just hand it to you after you told me it could cause the end of the world?! How dumb do you think I am?!” she accused, trying with all her strength to pull the rift away from the taller woman. Of course, it was a futile effort - the woman had at least two feet on her and was built like a sumo wrestler, but she had to _try._

“I _KNOW_ how dumb you are, you _dummy dumb-dumb dumbo!”_

“YOU’RE the dummy dumb-dumb dumbo!”

“AUGH, for once in your life, just listen to the grown-ups!”

“You don’t even know me! WHO EVEN ARE YOU?!”

 _“I’M YOU,_ YOU SELFISH IDIOT!”

“Wha-?!”

Mabel’s whole body went limp with shock and confusion, but the message didn’t reach her fingers in time. The woman’s strength went too far and she pulled the rift towards her chest, launching the now half-comatose Mabel off in the opposite direction, into the clearing.

She almost did a flip in mid-air and landed on her head. She heard another sickening ‘crack’, this time much closer to her ears. There was a pain, but it was short and sharp, and as she crumpled to the ground, it was replaced with a dull, throbbing sensation that made it difficult to think.

She was barely able to turn over and look up at the woman with bleary, tear-filled eyes. She felt a liquid trickle down from the top of her head. Reaching up to catch some of it, it began flowing over her fingers. It was red.

“Ugh… is… is that my blood…?”

The woman, still holding the rift close to her, gasped, her mouth open in shock and panic.

“O-oh my God, oh my God, I-I’m so sorry, th-that wasn’t supposed to happen!” she spluttered out. She carefully put the rift away in Dipper’s bag and zipped it up, hauling it onto her back, before running over to Mabel. “Just… j-just stay calm, okay? I-I’ll get you to a hospital!”

Feeling woozy, Mabel’s vision soon became unclear, darkened by sporadic blotches of blackness. Slipping in and out of consciousness, she could feel the woman who claimed to be _her_ gently cradling her and carrying her away to a vehicle of some kind. Through muffled ears, she could hear her talking to someone… another adult, a big guy with what seemed like a question mark on his shirt.

“Uh… S-Soos?” Mabel managed to say, but whatever Soos said, she didn’t hear it. He seemed worried and a little angry at the woman carrying her, but… wasn’t trying to stop her. She could barely see what was going on - Soos took Dipper’s bag and walked away, while Mabel and… _Mabel?..._ got in the… car? Truck?

She felt a soothing chill against her skull; someone had rested an ice pack against it. It felt nice. Soothing. _Soothing…_ maybe she should have just stuck her head in the ice box instead of running away…

She fell unconscious.


	2. Auntie May-May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mabel falls and rises at supersonic speed, and time travel tenses are confused.

Dipper was the first to rush outside, with Great-Uncle Ford not far behind. It had been less than two minutes since they learned that Mabel had accidentally wandered off with the rift. Dipper had wanted to go about it calmly, try and contact Mabel through their walkie-talkies, but Ford seemed to immediately assume the worst and insisted on rushing out to ‘contain the damage’.

“Thank Tesla, we’re not too late!” Ford said, looking up at the sky, “if she’d already broken the rift, there could be meteors and screaming turnips raining from the heavens right now!”

Dipper had to admit, even with everything going on, it was weird how the roles had been reversed. Mere hours ago, he was the one rushing to save Ford from being sent to an alien prison on the other side of the galaxy while Ford begged him to stay behind and seal the rift. Now Dipper had been the one to just ask Mabel what was going on and Ford was the one rushing out to save the day. He figured it made some sense - in both cases, making sure the rift was sealed came first. Except when Dipper had asked what they should do, Ford had said _“as far as the rift is concerned, it’s safer to assume it’s a matter of ‘when’ she breaks it, not ‘if’”._

What had he meant by that? That it’s better to be safe? That _anyone_ would eventually break it? Or Mabel specifically?

Even with the universe at stake, he hoped it wasn’t the last option.

As they ran deeper into the woods, however, a familiar figure appeared. He had his back to them, dragging a big… grey lump along the ground, and he was wearing Dipper’s backpack.

“SOOS! _SOOS!”_ Dipper cried out, immediately catching his attention.

“Woah! There you are, dudes!” Soos said, breathing a sigh of relief. Followed by a few more sighs to catch his breath. “Boy, am I glad you came out here, I dunno how much further I could drag this… like, space-time mechanic dude!”

Dipper stopped dead in his tracks, skidding along the dirt, upon seeing who the grey lump actually was.

“Blendin Blandin?! The hell is _he_ doing here?!”

“Never mind that, we have to focus on what’s important!” Ford cut in before he could answer. “Mr. Ramirez, the backpack!”

Without another word, Soos took the backpack off and wound up his arm, preparing to throw it over to them.

 _“NO NO NO NO NO!”_ Dipper and Ford practically screamed at him, frantically shaking their heads and waving their hands.

“Oh. Right,” Soos said in a little voice, glancing at the ground. Dipper walked over the five-or-so steps separating them and carefully took his backpack from him. 

Unzipping it and looking inside, both he and Ford breathed a long sigh of relief that made Soos’ sound paltry. The rift was in there, right where he left it, safe and sound.

“Good… the rift is safe… for now,” Ford said, gently taking the globe in his hands and immediately turning around and leisurely heading back for the Shack, as though someone had flipped a switch and he’d gone from panic mode to calm mode in an instant. “There’s still the matter of the adhesive to take care of. Come now, time is of the essence!”

“B-but… what about Mabel?! Where is she?!”

“We can worry about her later!”

“I… I-I can’t just leave her out there!” Dipper said; if anything, now he was even _more_ panicked, if only because he was the only one now; and because, after their confrontation over him accepting Ford’s apprenticeship, he so desperately didn’t want that talk to be their last. “Soos, have you seen her?!”

“Oh, hambone’s fine! She got a little bump on the noggin, so your aunt came along and took her to the hospital! Oh yeah, and she also punched this Blendo-matic dude in the face ‘cause he was possessed by the triangle guy.”

Dipper slumped, puzzled. “Aunt? ...I don’t have an aunt!”

“‘Triangle guy?’” Ford said, walking back over to them. “You mean to tell me this… Blendin fellow was possessed by Bill?!”

“Uh… yeah, I guess so. Don’t know any other triangle dudes…” Soos said rather nonchalantly, scratching his stubble. “Although Robbie _does_ have a very pointy chin, and he probably knows some dark magic…”

“Hmm… this is not good. Bill is onto us… and if he’s managed to claim a member of the Time Anomaly Removal Crew, that means he can travel through time. There’s no telling what sort of havoc he could unleash with that power...” Ford said, darkly, adjusting his glasses; Dipper was confused for a brief moment, before remembering he’d written about Blendin and Time Baby in Journal 3. No doubt Ford had read those additions. “We’d better get Blendin down to the lab, pronto. If he’s inside the Unicorn hair shield, Bill can’t get to him. Then we can ask just how the _hell_ this happened.”

Ford took hold of Blendin, and with a grunt of exertion, tried to drag him along with all his might. He only budged about four inches before Ford got winded and had to stop. Dipper got a look at his face - his little nose was bloodied and bruised, and he was missing one of his teeth. The lady who took him out really did a number on him. This… ‘aunt’.

“Soos, you still haven’t told me about my ‘aunt’. You know, the one I don’t have!”

Soos raised his hands, defensively. “Woah, touchy subject. I dunno what beef you’ve got with your Auntie May-May to disown her like that, but she’s still your family!”

Dipper’s face scrunched up into a scowl of irritation, and he tactfully ignored the fact that Soos had disowned his lousy dad, so it’s not like he could say that even if ‘Auntie May-May’ _did_ exist.

“No, Soos, seriously, I _literally_ do not have an aunt, much less one called ‘May-May’. My mom is an only child and my dad ran away from _his_ family, so I never met his siblings, if he had any. Probably don’t want to. He was raised by some… nutty religious compound, Waco siege types, it was a whole thing. That’s why he took the Pines name when he married mom.”

“Well, maybe she ran away from them, too?”

“Somehow I doubt that. But listen, we’re getting off-track!” Dipper raised his voice, “so you’re telling me some random woman you’ve never met before claimed to be my ‘Auntie May-May’ and took my sister to the hospital, and you just believed her without question?”

Sweat began to roll down Soos’ face, and he nervously glanced to the side, tugging at his shirt collar. “W-well… she was a very nice woman! And she looked _kinda_ like Mabel, if she was ten years older and put on a bit of weight. N-not that I’m complaining, in fact, I thought she was kind of a looker,” he said, awkwardly chuckling in an obvious attempt to inject some levity into the situation. “Heh… guess I soosed it up again, huh.”

Dipper sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, never mind, at least we know where she is! We’d better go get her!”

“But your Auntie May-May took my truck!”

“We’ll just take the bus! And _stop_ calling her my ‘auntie’! _I have no auntie!”_ Dipper repeated, slowly and loudly so Soos got the message.

 _“Ahem,”_ Ford cleared his throat, drawing Dipper and Soos’ attention back to him. He was doubled over like his back was about to give out, and Blendin had barely moved since the last time Dipper checked. “The rift? Blendin? _Fate of the universe,_ remember?”

“Oh…” Soos said, “yeah, I should probably give you a hand with that. And on the way, I can say ‘to me, to you!’ and tell you amusing handyman anecdotes, like the time I accidentally hooked up the shower to the lightswitch, or when I opened a steam pipe and almost blinded myself!”

“Mm-hmm, yes…” Ford responded with poorly-disguised disinterest. He turned to address Dipper again, looking slightly perturbed. “I presume you’re off chasing your sister alone, then?”

Dipper hesitated for just a second, but he knew what he had to do. “Sorry, Great-Uncle Ford, but… it’s getting dark, and… I’m worried about Mabel. Even if she _wasn’t_ in the hospital, I’d be worried. I-I’ll call Wendy, she can make sure I don’t get jumped by Gnomes or werewolves or whatever if I’m not back before dark.”

“Very well…” Ford said, sounding no less perturbed. Hopefully just because Dipper would miss the big world-saving moment, _and for no other reason._ “I suppose you’ve already done the heavy lifting in helping me recover the adhesive in the first place, and saving me from interstellar imprisonment in the process. Oh, and should you meet this… ‘Auntie May-May’, I believe we owe her some gratitude, too. She probably doesn’t realize, but she may have narrowly averted a catastrophe of global proportions.”

* * *

Mabel knew she was probably tempting fate by thinking this, but could this day get _any_ worse?

She left the emergency room only an hour or so after being brought in, thankfully. It was only a minor head injury, and she came out with only a bandage wrapped around her skull, like one of those action hero bandanas, so at least _that’s_ kinda cool. She was still a little dizzy - the doctor advised her not to try running or turning too sharply, but she could walk the walk and talk the talk just fine. She was glad the doctors in this town were at least… like, actual _doctors,_ not dummies like Blubs and Durland.

Speaking of dummies, that woman - the one who _said_ she was Mabel - who threw her onto the ground to start with was there in the reception, nervously pacing up and down, like she thought Mabel was going to die. Apparently she got her in by pretending to be her aunt.

It wasn’t long before she noticed Mabel emerging from the hall; she gasped with delight, briefly putting her hands on cheeks.

“Oh, thank _God,_ you’re okay! I thought you mighta had an irreversible brain fart or something!” she said, lunging at her with her huge arms wide open, enclosing her in a tight hug. Any other day, she’d welcome this, probably hug her right back, but this day had finally beaten any sense of joy out of her. Not even a bear hug could cheer her up.

Instead, she squirmed and squirmed until one of her hands was free of its prison, and socked the woman right in the eye.

 _“OW!”_ she yelped, releasing her hug and nursing the eye in question. “What was… okay, I guess I deserved that…”

“WHAT THE _HECK_ IS YOUR PROBLEM?!” Mabel bellowed to the best of her ability - drawing the attention of the half-dozen or so others in the reception - her voice raspy from all the crying she’d been doing; that, and it’d been a while since she’d had anything to drink.

“M-Mabel, I-”

“NO, _YOU_ SHUT UP!” Mabel interrupted, jabbing a pointed finger at her. “I was _already_ having the worst day of my life! My childhood is almost over, high school is gonna suck, _everyone_ is leaving me, including my brother, and then you PUT ME IN THE _HOSPITAL?!_ Ya might as well have just _killed me!_ You’d be doing me a favour! _”_

Hearing that made the larger woman recoil, as though she’d been stabbed by those words. It only lasted for a few seconds, and she removed her hand from her eye, revealing it had already started to go slightly black. ...Wow, Mabel really does underestimate her own strength. Didn’t make it any less unnerving when the woman’s hands balled into fists and she started glaring down at her.

“Hah, oh _here_ we go!” she said, sounding almost resigned. “This is rich coming from _you,_ Little Miss Start-The-Apocalypse-Because-She-Can’t-Handle-Growing-Up! You have _no idea_ what I just saved you from, and you’re _still_ mad at me?! If you had _any idea,_ you’d be buying me ice cream sandwiches for six billion years! _Mint choc chip_ ones!”

“Are you _serious?!”_ Mabel yelled back at her, her voice cracking again; she thought she’d run out of tears long ago, but she was clearly wrong. “I-if you really are me, you’d know what I’m going through, you… you wouldn’t be such a big jerk! Just… I-I… _I hate this, I hate everything!_ WHY CAN’T EVERYONE JUST _LEAVE ME ALONE?!”_

When Mabel asked to be left alone, it was not something to be taken lightly; she hated being alone. No, she was _afraid_ of being alone. It was one of her greatest fears. Part of the reason she was so miserable to begin with. So when the time comes that she voluntarily _wants_ to be alone, that’s when she realizes things have finally hit rock bottom.

Ignoring the doctor’s orders because to heck with the doctor’s orders right now, she quickly turned on her heel and ran outside, and off down the sidewalk. It was nighttime outside by now, and despite the illumination provided by the street lamps, the onslaught of darkness coupled with a rush of dizziness caused her pace to falter. It wasn’t long before she swayed and tripped, skidding along the ground. Grazing her knee and ruining her already-ruined birthday sweater even more.

She found in her the energy to sit up and gaze down at it - when the day had started, it was coral. Now it was more like… murky brown with coral undertones. It was the perfect visual metaphor for how this day had gone. How her life was going to go. Everything she thought she loved and could count on was forever ruined. The cheery confetti and delicious-looking cake that she laboured so hard over knitting now served only to mock her. She probably couldn’t even go to Sweater Town anymore, she’d wrecked the place so badly they’d banished her.

Instead, she tore it off, squirming like an animal trapped in a predator’s mouth, and violently hurled into the closest wall with a grunt. A decision she immediately regretted, because now she could feel an early fall chill coming on, and she was only wearing a thin t-shirt under her sweater.

She shivered and curled up into a ball on the sidewalk, the temperature bringing her tears into sharper relief. With the street light directly above her, it was like that light at the end of the tunnel that’s supposed to show up when you die. Of course, it _had_ to remind her of that. The only difference right now was that looking at it made her eyes sting and she had to slam them shut.

“You… you threw it away…”

Mabel didn’t need to open her eyes, or move, or do anything, but no matter how hard she huddled in on herself, she couldn’t block out sound. That voice… the stupid woman had followed her out here, because of course she had. Most people would know to _leave her alone_ when she screamed it like that and curled up outside on the _sidewalk,_ but not _her._

“Y-you loved that sweater…” she continued talking, her voice cracking in a way that Mabel recognized. It was a bit rougher, maybe, but it was the same way her own voice had been cracking all day. It was unmistakably her own voice, like she was listening to a recording... 

No, no, no. What was she thinking? Recordings can be messed with on computers and stuff. There’s no way this jerk is her future self. It can’t be. She refuses to believe it. ...But then why would she even be doing this? Why would she follow her out here so soon after she asked to be left alone? No-one had ever done that before, not even her own parents, not even _Dipper._

“Mabel…? Mabel, please, come back to me… I’m sorry about what I said, and I’m sorry I put you in the hospital... I wasn’t thinking, like always...”

Mabel slowly opened one of her eyes. She saw the lady crouching down in front of her, looking straight into her eyes. She had picked up the sweater she’d discarded, but it was hard to look past her face. The hair was different, and the face overall was a bit bigger, but… the roundiness, the Pines-brand brown eyes that remind her of chocolate cookies, the rosy cheeks of joy, the way _she_ was beginning to cry, herself, but tried to smile at her in spite of it all. It was like looking in a mirror.

Then she noticed some other details she either hadn’t noticed or just hadn’t cared to notice before. Her pink shirt had what looked like a ‘No Unicorns’ sign on it - that was an in-joke unlikely to be produced by anyone else. Her tattoos - one of them was a shooting star wrapped around her arm, and another was an arrow pointing down at her hand, with the words ‘FASTEN IN CASE OF HUG!’ above it. Because only she would give out so many hugs she’d need an advance warning tattooed onto her arms.

Mabel desperately tried to look away, to dismiss these lingering thoughts - maybe because she didn’t _want_ to believe this was her future self. Because if she was, then everything she’d said about her earlier was true. That she’d almost caused the end of the world because she was a selfish idiot. ...Maybe she was right, but it wasn’t what she wanted to hear right now.

“Mabel… look… look at my face,” she said; Mabel tried to ignore it, she really did, but she couldn’t. “I know you’re having a horrible day. I _lived_ through this. Literally. I’ve been having a horrible day, too… well, I _will_ have a horrible day ten years from now. Psh, time travel…” she joked, offering a chuckle, but it was obviously hollow and forced. “So, like, we might be strangers right now, but… I know you. I really do. And, in a way, you know me, too.”

Mabel couldn’t stop staring at her. She couldn’t decide which was worse. If she _is_ her future self, then she was a selfish idiot; and if she isn’t, then she’s just an idiot who got suckered in by some impostor. Neither option was going to make her feel better, she was sure of it, but… maybe if she is her future self, she can count on her. She could always count on herself, right? _Right?_

She needed some kind of confirmation.

“Wh...hhh-hh…” she tried to ask through a mass of sniffles and hiccups, a lump in her throat blocking it out. “What’s… wh-what’s your… favourite flavour toothpaste?”

“Cinnamon,” she answered, without hesitation. Her smile, once tiny, grew bigger.

Mabel found herself rising, and she asked her next question with more clarity in her voice.

“H-how many sweaters have I worn this summer?”

“107. Including the navy skull sweater you were planning on wearing tomorrow.”

Her smile grew again. She was doing good… it was time to bring out the big guns. Mabel narrowed her eyes, wiping off some leftover tears.

“What’s Dipper’s real name?”

“Mason.”

Finally, Mabel stood up. _Nobody_ knew that name out here. Nobody except Dipper himself and their parents, and if mom and dad showed up, she’d know. It couldn’t be. It had to be a trick. She had to be hallucinating. Or maybe she died earlier and this was some pre-death vision. Or she was about to get Ker-Prank’d. But it wasn’t, was it? This was _her_ she was looking at. Mabel Pines, aged 22. Or maybe 23.

“You… y-y-you… you really are me…”

Just to add one final bit of confirmation, they opened their arms in perfect sync for a hug.

“I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry I doubted you… I mean me… I mean… blaaagh, confusing…”

“It’s fine, seriously,” Future Mabel said, gently stroking a strong hand through her younger self’s hair. “I’d have done the same. I just _did!_ _Boom...”_ she went, miming an explosion next to her brain.

They both laughed. For the first time in a long while, Mabel stepped back and permitted herself a smile, wiping more tears from her eyes. She knew this wasn’t perfect, because, again, this meant she was a selfish idiot, but… she needed to repress that, just for a little bit. She needed to be strong in front of her older self.

“Heh… wow, I… I’m pretty huge, huh,” she said, as Future Mabel stood back up straight, towering over her. “And _beefy._ And I have a big tummy!” she said in a way that made it clear she was not upset by this; quite the opposite. Made her more huggable that way. Just like Soos!

When Future Mabel stood up, Present Mabel was on eye level with her pudge; she involuntarily raised a pointed finger. “Permission to boop?” she asked.

“Permission granted!” Future Mabel answered, her hands proudly on hips.

“Boop!” Mabel immediately went, poking her in the stomach. They both chuckled. “Boop!” she did it again, and they chuckled even more.

“Boop-a-doop-a-doop-doop, _WHOP!”_ she did six more pokes in rhythm, ending with a slap that made it wobble. That left them both guffawing and snorting like pigs - which was good on two levels, one because pigs, and two because it helped Mabel clear out all the gross tears and snot she’d been gathering.

“Hahaha… so um… I guess I owe you ice cream sandwiches for six billion years, now?”

“What? Nahhh,” Future Mabel said, waving it off. “I’ll settle for one billion years. Maybe even one _million._ But ya don’t have to start now, I’ll let you owe me. But watch out for surprise interest! It’ll ambush your bills like the _weasel!”_

“Hah!” Mabel laughed again, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and something tells me I don’t wanna!”

“Yeah, it’s grown-up stuff. You’ll find out. In the meantime, uh… I know I’m probably breaking, like, _all_ of the time-laws just by being here, but - you’ve had a crappy day. I’ve had a crappy day. I wanna be happy, and I’d be real happy if I could make _you_ happy… ya see what I’m gettin’ at, maybe we could work somethin’ out here…?” she said, circling her hands around each other as though she was negotiating an illicit deal.

“Hmm…” Mabel went, raising one brow and tapping a finger against her chin, slyly. “Well, you could cure all the world’s diseases! That’d make me pretty happy!”

“Oh definitely, I could do that!” Future Mabel responded as though Present Mabel was’t even joking, “I’m pretty sure there’s a formula for Mabel-Juice that can kill most germs! The trick’s makin’ sure it’s the _right_ germs!”

Mabel gasped. “You still drink Mabel-Juice?”

“Well, yeah, _obvs._ Why would I _ever_ stop that flavour train? What, just ‘cause I’m grown? A wise man once told me, just ‘cause I’m grown, doesn’t mean I have to _grow up,_ yanno?”

Mabel nodded, folding her arms, grinning. She knew _exactly_ who said that; he’d said it to her, just hours before. Maybe if she’d remembered it, she could have avoided getting all sad.

“But seriously, though…” Future Mabel said, “right now, I could really go for somethin’ to eat. I wanna know if Greasy’s has any secret menu items they don’t do in my time. You in?”

“Am I?! Uh, yes! All this dumb sadness really gives you an appetite. My tears are high in all the vitamins, it takes _a lot_ outta me!”

As they headed back down the street, Future Mabel wordlessly passed her discarded sweater back to her. She put it on, not even caring about the grime anymore. It’s amazing, really; just minutes ago, she was at rock bottom, just about ready to disappear forever, but now it’s like none of that ever happened. Maybe it was just because she got some confirmation that growing up wouldn’t be so bad. Still, she didn't know everything, like how Dipper is doing in the future, or the Grunkles, but... but she seems to be doing okay, at least. It's a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I actually cried for real at one point when writing this. That has never happened before and I doubt it'll happen again, so you know. Just thought I'd mention that here, for the record.
> 
> Also, yes, in this continuity Shermie had a daughter and it's through her that Dipper and Mabel are Pineses instead of... whatever their father's surname is. Because that does happen sometimes.


	3. History Repeats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out how Future Mabel made it back in time, but don't find out why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, I included a not-so-great drawing I made of how Future Mabel appears in the story. I figure since she takes after her Grunkle Stan - and like him, she likes to snack and likes to brawl - she'd develop a similar body type as him (and proudly so!)
> 
> Also, to avoid confusion - when 12-year-old Mabel is the viewpoint character, 'Mabel' refers to her, with the other Mabel referred to strictly as 'Future Mabel'. Likewise, when 22-year-old Mabel is the viewpoint character, she is referred to simply as 'Mabel' while kid Mabel is 'Past Mabel' or 'Young Mabel'. Good thing they don't visit Dimension MAB-3L as well.

“...And so I said, ‘kibbutzim? I don’t even know ‘im!’ _HAHAHA!_ Haha…. hah ...s’yeah, anyway, that’s how I got banned from Kazakhstan.”

Mabel fidgeted in her seat, managing a little chuckle as her future self, sitting opposite her in their booth at Greasy’s Diner, finished another anecdote about all the cool stuff she’s been up to (or from her perspective, _will_ be up to, but she’d long since resolved to not think too much about time travel tenses) - and Mabel herself will get to do, too, assuming she hasn’t messed up the timeline _too_ much. 

Apparently she, Stan and Ford once went hunting for UFOs in Russia for her 20th birthday; that made her smile again, knowing that her Grunkles would eventually make up, even if it took the literal end of the world to force the issue - and as a bonus, apparently they killed that isosceles jerk for good, too! They both knew she probably shouldn’t be telling her younger self so much about her future, but Mabel admitted that, after everything that happened today, she’d probably do the same. To heck with the time police!

There was still something bothering her, though - okay, a _lot_ of things - and the longer she sat there, the more obvious it became. She’d come down from the emotional high of meeting her future self, and since arriving at Greasy’s, her laughter became quieter and quieter, her big braces-filled grin smaller and smaller.

Future Mabel hadn’t noticed quite yet, as she took another bite out of her Double Raspburger - secret menu item they’d discovered, a double cheeseburger topped with raspberry jam.

 _“Mmmm-mmm-mmm,_ thish ish amazhing!” she said in mid-chew, scattering bits of bun and sesame seed from her mouth. “I’m _sho_ glad we sholved that menu cryptogram! Thish wash _made_ for me! It’sh like I jumped even _further_ back in time and gave Mr. Greashy or whoever the idea! How the heck did I mish thish back when I wash you?”

She took a pause to swallow and then turned to face the counter. “‘EY, SUSAN! Random thought! If y’ever cancel this, bring it back in exactly ten years! Like a limited edition nostalgia dealy!”

“...Oh!” she could hear ‘Lazy’ Susan respond from inside the kitchen. “What an oddly specific request! _...Suuuure!”_

This was followed shortly by draws slamming and pots clattering, probably because Susan took that request literally and went to mark it somewhere.

It was a funny image, one that made Mabel chuckle again… but it trailed off, and she sighed, glancing down at the table. That finally made her future self take notice.

“Hey… what’s up, Past Me?” Future Mabel said, softly, putting down her Raspburger. “You haven’t even touched your chicken fingers. Ooh, that one looks like a mobius strip!” she said, pointing it out. 

The sight of a mobius chicken strip placed the source of her current attitude in sharper relief. She’d known since they’d ordered their food that something was bothering her; compared to Future Mabel’s excitement over her Raspburger with a side of fries and a banana shake, Present Mabel settled for a comparatively modest plate of chicken fingers and a Pitt cola, neither of which she’d touched at all; a far cry from her usual big-eater tendencies. She couldn’t place the reason, perhaps because there were so many to choose from that they blended together into an indistinct mass, but then she remembered…

Dipper once made a video about a mobius chicken strip. Her future self hadn’t mentioned him at all… well, that’s not entirely true. He came up once or twice. But it didn’t sound like he came to Russia with her and the Grunkles. No mention of what they were up to in Gravity Falls in the summers to come. Apparently he did come home with her to Piedmont after all, but… again, end of the world. That had been averted. She won’t pretend to understand time travel, but if her future self hasn’t already been _bzorped_ out of existence, then they must be in an alternate timeline right now. One where Dipper is still gonna stay here with Ford and Stan is still gonna get kicked out...

“It’s just…” Mabel finally said, glancing out the window and at the dark street outside. “I dunno, my brain’s being stupid again. Just seems like… everything only worked out ‘cause the _apocalypse_ happened. The one that _I caused._ Or… would have done. Which sucks. But if… if you killed Bill for good, and everything’s great, why would you go back in time?”

Future Mabel snapped to attention.

Silence. Far too much silence.

She began to fidget, drum her fingers on the table, loudly slurp up her milkshake. As though making enough noise would drown out the silence. It didn’t work.

“It’s…” she finally said, “...it’s complicated. To be honest, I hadn’t _meant_ to go back by 10 years. I only wanted to go back 10 _days._ ...I wasn’t looking at the display…” she sheepishly admitted, clasping her hands in front of her and glancing at the floor.

“...Oh. But wait, if you hadn’t meant to come back to 2012, why not just jump forward again?”

“It’s not that simple. I wasn’t using one of those time-tape thingies; i-in the future, Dr. McGucket - or Old Man McGucket, as you call him - is gonna reverse-engineer one and build a time machine you can install in your car. Yeah, just like that movie. It’s kinda… not finished. And it uses some weird power source that we haven’t even discovered yet; a-and by ‘we’ I mean ‘humanity’. You can only find ‘em in alien spaceships. Dork Matter batteries.”

“Um… you mean dark matter?” Mabel asked; she vaguely remembered Dipper mentioning that once.

“Nah, Dork Matter. We played rock-paper-scissors to see who would name it, Grunkle Stan won. Prob’ly ‘cause he was the only one who didn’t pick rock,” Future Mabel said, before addressing her own fist. “Stupid rock, I thought I could trust you! I wanted to call it ‘Sparkly Zoom-Zoom Goop!’”

Mabel made a mental note - never use rock. Sparkly Zoom-Zoom Goop would see the light of day.

“Anyway, after I got here…”

* * *

_A few hours earlier…_

* * *

_‘FWOOOOSH’_

For just a fraction of a second, all the air in the world was sucked away, leaving Mabel and her van in a vacuum. It may have only lasted that long, yet the force, akin to opening the door to a plane in mid-flight, was so strong that even after she reappeared in the physical world in a flash of blue sparks, she still felt almost suffocated, her muscles strained from keeping her grip on the steering wheel.

The sudden blast of air she received as it all came back was almost overwhelming; her concentration shot to hell, the van began to swerve uncontrollably around this road she found herself on. Tires squealing and smoke spewing, she struggled to regain control of the runaway vehicle.

It was then she realized she wasn’t driving in a straight line - she was drifting. More importantly, she wasn’t on a road at all, but a parking lot. And... she wasn’t _actually_ moving anywhere. She was just doing donuts. Getting all the air sucked out of her lungs and then shoved back _in_ in the space of a second must have confused her.

The moment she realized this, she shifted the gear stick to Neutral (or ‘H’ as the reading says - it’s in cyrillic) and slammed her foot on the brakes. The _brake_ brakes for stopping with, not the drifty smoky handbrakes. Okay sure, the handbrake is for stopping too, but who ever uses it like that?

Finally stationary, she took a few moments to get her bearings - and more importantly, allow her dizzied vision to reset, and hopefully let her stomach either settle or expel its contents onto the passenger seat. Wouldn’t be the first time. There’s a reason she hung all those rainbow air fresheners from the rear-view mirror.

Looking outside, she couldn’t quite make out where she was, on account of the huge cloud of smoke she’d conjured. This did have a plus side, though, as it also obscured her from view, so hopefully no-one would notice this rusty old hot pink van _bzorping_ in from out of nowhere. Still, she knew it wouldn’t last. She needed to get to a better hiding spot.

Luckily, the wind was blowing away from the direction of an alleyway; shifting to Reverse (or ‘P’) gear, she stuck her head out the window and guided the van back into the alley, pulling off a twisty reverse 90-degree turn to get behind the massive building the parking lot was servicing. She braked, putting the van to rest among the dumpsters.

Finally, she could stop and relax. For a little bit, at least. Until she figured out what the heck she was even doing. She undid her seatbelt and allowed her head to fall into the dashboard. So she did it, she stole McGucket’s prototype and used it to go back 10 days, but now what? She’d figured 10 days was a decent margin to stop the accident, but she had no idea _where_ it was going to happen, much less which exact _day._ For all she knew, she might already be too late.

“Nngrhh, stupid frumpy government spooks and their stupid need-to-know-basis…” Mabel muttered under her breath. “Why’d you have to mix yourself up with _them,_ Dip-Dop? After all the trouble keeping secrets has caused and you run to the ones whose whole _job_ is to keep secrets…”

_Oh yes, there you go again,_ a voice in the back of her head spoke up, _you’ve only got yourself to blame for this. You drove him away. That’s your problem, you’re too clingy. And why? Everyone handled Weirdmageddon just fine while you were living it up in your safe bubble. They don’t need you._

She brought a fist down on the dashboard, shooting back up. _“AUGHHHHH!_ I am so _not_ in the mood for your frank but cutting assessment of my character, weird mind-voice!”

Mabel _really_ didn’t need this self-loathing right now. After 10 years of _it’s all your fault it’s all your fault it’s all your fault_ , she’d had just about enough; she came here to do a job and do it _right_ for once.

...And already, she hit a snag.

She looked at the control panel for McGucket’s prototype. Specifically, the spot where the desired date goes. She had been expecting to see 8-14-2022.

What she saw instead was 8-24-2012.

“Huh…? 24th August, 2012? ...No, no, no, _no, no, no!_ That’s not right, that’s… that’s…” she stopped herself, inhaling sharply, closing her eyes. 

Think, Mabel. Be calm. She just made a mistake, that’s all. She must have just goofed it up and put the wrong date in by accident. It’s no biggie. Just get back out into that parking lot and go back again… uh, forward. Back relative to her starting point, forward relative to _now_ . ...She had a headache, and it was starting to get kinda hot in there. Like, _really_ hot. Even by august standards.

“Wait. Has it overh-...?”

She scrabbled at her seatbelt to get it undone, before bursting out of the van, not even bothering to close the door behind her. Rushing over to the side door, she opened it up and clambered into the back - most of which was taken up by the oversized steel box that McGucket called a time machine. Red warning lights were going off all over the place, alarms were buzzing, and there was the scent of what smelled like burning moldy bread in the air; not to mention, it was practically a furnace back there.

“Ohhhhh, _poop! POOP-DARNIT!”_ she exclaimed - of course, the prototype wasn’t designed to go back much further than a few months at most, and she, like an idiot, sent it back _10 years!_ The battery had probably _melted_ from the stress!

Fortunately McGucket at least designed a way to cool it down, and you didn’t even need a PhD in supergenius-ology to figure it out. Mabel opened a cap labelled ‘IN CASE OF CRITICAL MELTDOWN, INSERT COOLANT’. She then turned her attention to a cooler she’d brought along; opening it up, she picked up one of several large bottles of ice water, harvested from the arctic wastes of the back of her freezer! Savouring the chilly sensation in her hands, she opened the lid and poured the ice water down the hatch - and sure enough, steam began to burst forth from several strategically-placed vents, creating an impromptu sauna. Most importantly, however, the warning lights disappeared, indicating it was safe to check the battery.

She opened up the Dork Matter battery compartment. There was… _something_ in there, but it didn’t look like a battery. More like a puddle of bubbling liquid metal, slowly draining out of the bottom.

“Oh, no, NO, _NO!”_ she almost screamed at the sight, clutching her head in panic. Hyperventilating, she forced herself to turn away and walk back outside, away the sauna she’d created.

_Welp, ain’t that typical? You screwed it all up again, like always._

“Hnnnnng, shut up, _shut up…”_ she muttered to herself, teeth clenched. She began pacing around. Her chest rose up and down like a wave.

Mabel needed to stop and think. Okay. So she’s stranded in 2012. Her time machine doesn’t have a power source because it just melted, and she has no idea where she could find a new one. Meanwhile, in the future, Dipper could be horribly hurt, or worse, and instead of just acting like an adult and facing him, she thought she could cheat…

 _“HNNNG!”_ she shrieked inside her closed mouth.

Positives, think of positives! She won’t get anywhere by complaining. From the looks of things, she was still in Gravity Falls, at least, so she knows that prototype isn’t a teleporter as well. If it was 2012, she figures the building next to her is still the Gravity Malls, not the offices of the Chipper Woodchip Recycling Company. She knows for a fact that there’s a crashed UFO just outside town - they might have some Dork Matter.

Actually, wait… wasn’t the 24th of August that day when…?

_“aaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAA…!”_

Mabel looked up as she could make out the distinct sound of squeaky pubescent boy screeching - _Dipper!_ His voice is one-of-a-kind!

She could only briefly make out her brother’s 12-year-old self - down here, he was just an indistinct blue-and-orange splotch attached to some… freaky smooth alien spacecraft. It came _woooshing_ over the mall at supersonic speed, creating a strong breeze that almost knocked her back; she raised an arm to shield herself, as bits of paper and garbage scattered across the ground. Less than a second later, she heard a loud ‘CRASH’ as the spacecraft shot right through the water tower off in the distance. ...How is it that she could see that thing from anywhere in town?

Oh yeah… today was when he went off with Grunkle Ford on a smarty mission to find some alien superglue or whatever. Then he almost became his apprentice and left her to go back home to Piedmont alone… _that_ was a sucky day.

Why did history have to repeat itself?

Wait.

Something _else_ happened that day, didn’t it?

Mabel froze. She could feel the air escaping her lungs again, but she was paralyzed, powerless to react.

Images flashed before her eyes. She was 12 again. The time travel guy stood before her, palm outstretched.

_Just a little more summer…_

_Oops._

The rift, shattered into pieces. His goggles rising, revealing those _eyes,_ glowing like fireballs. The laughing. The laughing… the thoughts that raced through her head before she passed out.

_You chose wrong. Everyone will suffer now, because of you._

_It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault._

_It’sallyourfaultit’sallyourfaultit’sallyourfaultit’sallyourfaultit’sallyourfault_

“Weirdmageddon. I have to stop it.”

The van was busted; all the strain she’d given it did a number on its ability to… well, start. Whatever, that didn’t matter. She’d find another way. Locking it up, she covered it with a nearby tarp someone had thrown away, and headed inside the mall.

She wasn’t here to do shopping, as nostalgic as that would be. The sun was still out, but the Mall was beginning to empty as evening approached, so she figured she had barely enough time to track down who she was looking for. Now that she’d had that vision, she remembered this day as though it was yesterday - not, from her perspective, 10 years ago. She’d lament her bad luck, choosing this day, of all days, to get stranded in, but that wouldn’t help. She needed to get serious. _So_ serious.

She was _so_ serious, she scrunched up her face into the most serious grimace she could imagine. _Seeeeriiiioooous._

She remembered where everyone was that day, and at what time. If Dipper and Grunkle Ford were in the closing stages of their mission, she - her 12-year-old self - would have gone back to the Shack. Grunkle Stan was there, too. Wendy was… okay, she had no idea where she would have gone after registering for high school. That left Soos. After he dropped her off at the Shack, he said he needed to go get his computer repaired, because it blew up after he tried making another episode of _Fixin’ It With Soos._ So he should be at the mall somewhere.

Sure enough, after a ten-minute search, she found him standing around at P.C. Mackintosh’s Computer Emporium, talking to a bespectacled technician behind the front desk.

“Sir, with all due respect, have you considered just buying a new computer?“ the technician said, pointing at the pile of plastic that was once Soos’ computer, “Your current model saw action in the ‘87 stock market crash. Not only is it in fifteen pieces, I checked the hard drives - it’s riddled with so many viruses, if it was a city the government would drop a nuke on it! ...In my professional opinion.”

“Huh… thought I cleared all those out after _mi Abuelita_ got over her online shopping phase,” Soos replied, brushing his chin in thought. “Or… could be those ‘presents’ that .GIFfany gave me when we were dating. Pro tip, by the way: never get too attached to a dating simulator, especially if they threaten to kill you and all your friends! Trust me, it won’t go well.” he added, cheerfully, as though he was giving dating advice. ...Which he kind of _was,_ but still.

“Um… noted.”

Mabel had been about to rush in and call Soos’ name, but she stopped herself at the last moment. It’s 2012, Soos only knows her as that sparkly kid with the pig and braces ( _♫who puts smiles on ev’ry-one’s faces!♫_ ...mental force of habit). He wouldn’t recognize her as she is now; she’s a stranger, no different from anyone else in this mall. She’d need to play it casual.

“Excuuuuuuse me, kind _sirree!”_ she said, sliding next to him at the desk with the most over the top ‘casual’ expression she could muster - almost drooping onto the desk, her eyes half-closed, her mouth half-open and a bit of drool coming out, like she was about to have a stroke.

“AGH! A WOMAN!” Soos yelled in shock. “Uh, I mean… ah, a _woman!”_ he repeated, this time trying to sound flirty. _That_ went away quickly. “Uh, I-I mean…”

Mabel, unsure if it was just Soos’ awkwardness around women talking or her choice of entry, wiped the drool from her face and stood up straight, gently patting the handyman on the shoulder. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Y-you get nervous around women, I can tell.”

Soos chuckled awkwardly, brushing her hand off his shoulder, and his face went all red. “Heheh… yeah, got me good…”

As funny and uncomfortable as this was, Mabel didn’t want to waste any time; she could mess with her friends’ past selves later. Right now she had an apocalypse she needed to avert. She stood up straight, adjusting her shorts.

“Anyway! I, uh… I’ve heard _legends_ around this town of a… legendary… handyman who works at the legendary Mystery Shack! And if mine eyes doth not deceiveth me, thou amst lookingeth at himeth right now...eth!”

As expected, Soos adjusted his cap with a huge grin on his face, trying hard not to look proud. “Heheh. Yep-eth, that’s me, dude! Forgive me if I’m bein’ forward, but I’m, uh, kinda taken right now. Say, have I seen you before somewhere? You look kinda familiar. Maybe you were at the last FCLORP meeting? Your olde butcherede englische is on point!”

That last question came out of nowhere, while Mabel was still distracted by the weird feeling brought about by Soos thinking she was hitting on him. _Super_ weird. ...Of course he had to recognize her face, though; he’d only been spending every day hanging out with her younger self this particular summer.

“Actually…” she said, with a point, “um… maybe you’ve met my, ah… _niece,_ Mabel Pines? She’s been staying at the- your workplace this summer. People have said we look… like, identical. As if I’m her but ten years older. Psh, imagine that!”

Soos gasped. “You’re her an’ Dipper’s aunt?! Guess you do kinda give off ‘cool aunt’ vibes. Woah, long-lost family members comin’ outta the woodworks this summer, dude. ...Uh, pretend ya didn’t hear that.”

“I’ve already forgotten!”

“Phew. So, uh, what was your name, again?”

“Glad you asked! It’s Ma… May… May-May! The kids call me Auntie May-May, _obvs._ Y’ever gotten a Mabel Hug? That’s me, I taught her everything she knows about hugging! In fact, it took me _unspeakable_ amounts of self-control to not hug _you_ the moment I saw ya!”

Mabel wasn’t even lying when she said that. Not _just_ because of the situation, but also because… well, it’s _Soos._ How can you _not_ want to hug him?

“Well, happy to meetcha, Auntie May-May!” he said, offering her a fist bump; which she accepted, following up with a customary _‘PRSSSHHH’_ explosion gesture. “So, uh, you here for Dipper an’ Mabel’s 13th birthday bash?”

“Why, yes! I was just passing through on the way to… Vegas! An’ I have a care package of… yarn balls! _Sooo_ many yarn balls, you can’t even imagine! In fact, that’s why I was lookin’ for you - I need someone to gimme a lift to the Shack. Like, right now. ‘Cause the yarn balls are weighing down my car. _Pleeeeease?”_

She made sure to clasp her hands together and give him her best puppy-dog eyes; they had mixed success at 22, but she knew they’d work on Soos.

“Haha, okay, sure! How could I resist eyes like those?”

They were walking out of the shop seconds later, leaving behind the very confused and slightly scared computer technician who’d been with them in the room the entire time.

Soos spent the entire trip over to the Shack talking her ears off about something or another, but Mabel was only half-listening. He was talking about her and Dipper’s various adventures, albeit modified to exclude most of the Weird stuff. Kinda surprising, he even left out the whole Pterodactyl Bros. thing. He had more tact than even she realized.

Now that she’d accomplished her goal of getting a lift to the Shack, she didn’t need to pretend to be calm and smooth anymore, so she took the opportunity to quietly panic; it was unlikely she’d get another chance, whatever happened next. She asked herself why she was even doing this; she knew she shouldn’t mess around with history, but what’s the alternative? Lock herself in Grunkle Ford’s gross old bunker (she could do that, she knew the code) and wait it out? Just by being here she might have altered history enough for that isosceles jerk to _win,_ if he shows up.

Besides, the thought of doing anything else just made her feel sick. For 10 years, this has haunted her; she’d always said to herself, if she could go back and undo Weirdmageddon somehow, make it so that no-one had to suffer because of her, she would. The only reason she’d never tried before was because it wouldn’t even make a difference to her, it’d just create an alternate timeline.

Well. She’d already driven away her brother. Maybe if he stayed with Ford in 2012 after all, he won’t get into that accident. Maybe then this alternate version of Mabel could deal with the pain of separation much sooner. It might not change her own future, but it would create a better future for _someone._

After a half-hour drive, the sun was beginning to set. They pulled up to the Shack, and Mabel immediately bolted out, before they’d even stopped. Soos had tried to say something - if she had to guess, he finally noticed she hadn’t actually brought any yarn balls along with her - but she couldn’t hear him over the sound of her furiously banging on the door to the gift shop.

“Sorry, lady, the Mystery Shack’s closed right now!” she could hear the gruff voice of her Grunkle Stan speak up, as he walked over to investigate. “I can give ya an after-hours tour, but the price is squared! An’ you gotta put up with me bein' cranky the whole time, 'cause I ain't gettin' back into character at this time o' the evenin'!”

“Hnnng…” Mabel grunted in annoyance, still banging on the door, “open up, _Grunkle Stan, it’s me!”_

She gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth, realizing what she just blurted out.

“Uhh… sorry, what was that ya said? Didn’t quite hear ya,” Stan replied, now visible on the other side of the door, in his trademark Mr. Mystery getup. Still didn’t open up. Looking just as gruff now as he was the last time she saw him in 2022. Some things never change… or will never have changed.

Mabel sighed with relief. “I said, uh… _Uncle_ Stanley, it’s _me!_ Your, uh… niece!”

Mabel tried to put on her best grin. It wasn’t lying. Not really. Just… telling the truth but switching out all the meanings!

Stan narrowed his wrinkled eyes at her. “...Louise? Nah, yer not Louise. Pretty sure she’s twice yer age. An’ she ain’t got any siblings, neither. Unless I’m not the _only_ one who’s been coverin’ for surprise siblings for the last thirty years...” he said, with a clear tinge of bitter resignation.

Louise? Oh! He must be thinking of mom!

“Oh, no no… did I say niece? I meant your niece…-in-law! I’m Louise’s… husband’s… sister!”

“Huh, so yer a Sauvageon…” Stan mused, scratching his chin. “Weren’t you guys s’posed to be some weird cult that yer brother ran away from?”

“Pff!” Mabel scoffed, waving a hand, “yeah, that was… heh, that was just a phase we went through, I’m way over that now! The human sacrifices got a li’l old after the first twenty times, anyway!”

Okay, now she was lying. Like, actual lying. If only Grunkle Stan knew who she really was, and how it was him who _taught_ her how to lie…

“Uh-huh… so whaddya want, anyway? I’d invite ya in fer some coffee, but these days I’m not allowed to show hospitality without runnin’ it past my nerd brother. Somethin’ about spies.”

“Oh, that’s okay! I was just stopping by to drop off some birthday presents for Dipper and Mabel!”

 _“May-May, you forgot to bring the yarn balls!”_ she could hear Soos finally catch on back at the truck, but she ignored him.

Stan scratched behind his ears, uneasily glancing off to the sides. “Yyyeah, now might not be the best time. Dipper’s, uh… somewhere, nerdin’ it up, an’ last I saw Mabel she was runnin’ off into the woods cryin’.”

“OH _SH-”_ Mabel almost said, before slamming her palms over her mouth again. “Shhhh...aring quality time with them is something I like, _a lot,_ and I need to go do that _right now!_ I live off cuddles and affection! ‘Kay, thanks, bye! Also, if the sky turns red in a few minutes, get your gun ready an’ don’t wait ‘til the fourth day to build a giant butt-kicking robot!”

“Wha…?”

Mabel babbled all of that out faster than she could even think of what she was saying - at that point, her mental processing power was dedicated to two things - running and warning people about stuff. _Screw history,_ at this point. If Weirdmageddon still happens, they’ll need all the help they can get.

Leaving behind an extremely confused Grunkle Stan to gawk at her from behind the door, she ran into the woods, rustling through the underbrush. She’d had enough flashbacks to this day that she didn’t even need to consult a map, she knew the exact path she’d run by memory. It was only a matter of speed, at this point.

“C’mon, Mabel… c’mon…” she said to herself as she picked up her pace through the underbrush, already feeling her lungs get heavier. “I… I gotta _be there when it happens!”_

Come on, where the heck was that clearing… she could have sworn it was closer than this. Could she just run faster as a 12-year-old? Was she in that bad shape only 10 years later? She’s been exercising! She’s not in bad shape! She just… specializes in lifting and pulling, that’s all. They use different muscles than for running! When was the last time you saw an olympic weightlifter running? That’s right, _never!_

Ugh, if she fails to stop Weirdmageddon because she skipped leg day, her personal trainer’s never gonna let her live it down.

Squinting through the trees, she could make out a shiny blue thing… that’s it! That’s the rift!

Oh heck, this meant her past self had already taken it out!

Mabel quickened her pace. She could feel her legs going numb at this speed, and her ribs were seriously reconsidering their life choices being nestled next to her heart, but if she got a heart attack after all this? Fine. _Worth it._ Weirdmageddon would _not_ be happening, not under her watch! _Weirdmageddon is officially cancelled!_

“Yes, that's it! Just hand it over and I'll do my thing. Unless you're ready to leave Gravity Falls…” she could hear Bill say off in the distance, in the voice of his stupid squawky meat-puppet. 

_UGH,_ how could she have been so short-sighted? She _lives_ in Gravity Falls now! You can’t get much more not-leavy than that!

She remembers how long it took for her to make that stupid, stupid decision. Every second counts now. 

One… 

Two… 

Three…

Four…

“...Just a little more summer…”

She was almost there - both of her selves were _almost there,_ in different ways. Billendin was in sight. Target acquired. Pushing herself forth one last time, Mabel raised her fist, tightening it like a rock _of steel._ She prepared to jump. If her legs failed her now...

Billendin reached out to grab the rift. He stopped. He turned towards her.

“Wh-what’s that noise?”

**_“DYNAMIC ENTRY!”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random details because I probably won't be able to work them in elsewhere: in this story (and The Pines Down Under), Dipper and Mabel's mom's name is Louise Agatha Pines (and she was the baby who showed up in A Tale of Two Stans, with Grandpa Sherman being an off-screen older brother), while their dad's name is Emile Pines-Sauvageon. Don't ask me why I gave him that name, even I don't know. Since the Pines tradition is for their middle names to be their parent's first names, this means their children are Mason 'Dipper' Emile Pines and Mabel Louise Pines.


	4. Bus Brain Treasure Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Future Mabel gives her past self a pep-talk, and Dipper comes to a realization about Grunkle Ford's offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: 2/8/2021: If you've read this story before, you may have noticed the latter half of this chapter is different from before. I rewrote it to remove some story elements I felt were bogging things down, and hopefully shave off the word count a tad in the process.
> 
> Just to avoid confusion, the first half of Dipper's section takes place shortly after Chapter 2, while the second half takes place much later, even later than the Mabels' section. I'm starting to think I should include timestamps. :V

“Om nom nom…” Future Mabel chowed down on the last of her fries, as she spoke, “and then I cried _‘DYNAMIC ENTRY!’_ and punched that evil nacho right in hish shtupid meat-puppet fache! And then… well, you know the resht.”

Mabel had been absorbed in her future self’s recounting of how she arrived in 2012; she heard all the highlights, from stealing McGucket’s prototype time thingy, the battery melting into goop, pretending to be her aunt, and finally pulling off that epic drop-punch at the last second. Mabel had to admit, she hadn’t lost her captivating edge at the ripe old age of 22. It was enough to perk her up and get her to start eating her previously-untouched food, like she was watching a movie.

As she was about to eat the mobius chicken strip she’d noticed earlier, however, she realized something - her future self had explained _how_ she got here, but there was something missing.

“Heh, yeah, that _was_ pretty super-bonkers-cool…” Mabel said, her bright expression darkening, “but… you didn’t really answer my question. Like, _why_ did you go back in the first place? If it wasn’t to stop you- uh, _me_ \- from goofing it up and starting the apocalypse, why?”

Future Mabel swallowed and went silent again. Just like last time, she started nervously drumming on the table before staring out the window, at the dark street outside.

With each passing second, the younger Mabel looked increasingly worried, then scared.

Before the silence could be prolonged any further, the younger Mabel spoke up first. She had a horrible hunch that she desperately didn’t want to be true.

“Is it… is it something to do with Dipper?”

Future Mabel froze again.

“I… I, um…”

“Did we get all stupid? ...We got all stupid, didn’t we?”

“W-well, I… no, no, of course we didn’t get all stupid! Dipper just…”

Future Mabel sighed, sounding defeated as she glanced back at the floor.

“...He had an accident. He… he could be hurt. I kinda… wasn’t thinking straight, I thought maybe I could stop it by jumping back a short time, before the timeline had really… like, settled. I guess. I-if anything, it was just _me_ who was stupid. But… I might not have meant to come back here, but… I don’t regret stopping Weirdmageddon. Even if it’s not gonna change anything for me. I j-just… I just couldn’t… I couldn’t sit there and watch as y- I made everyone suffer just ‘cause I was afraid…”

Mabel could see her future self’s eyes beginning to water; people always said her moods are infectious, and she was learning that first hand, because now _her_ eyes were starting to water, too. She wasn’t sure what to make of this. Both now and in 10 years, she’d do anything for her bro-bro, including go back in time, but… there was still something missing, she was sure of it, and that emptiness, that lingering unanswered question, weighed down on her like that stupid rift.

_‘Are we still the Mystery Twins?’_ she wanted to ask, but she didn’t, because she was afraid she wouldn’t like the answer. Perhaps some mysteries are better left unsolved.

There was another question, though; a much bigger question, one that most of her various fears and worries she’d had over the past few hours would eventually boil down to. Learning that she’d almost caused the end of the world for a selfish reason. Worrying that her future would still end up bad, or worse. Desperately wanting reassurance that her brother was still there for her.

“Um… can I ask you something, Future Me?”

“Sure…” she responded, dabbing her eyes with a disposable napkin.

“Am I… am I a bad person?”

Future Mabel sunk back into her seat at those words, as though she felt her heart twist beneath her chest.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… not _only_ do I almost cause the end of the world because I’m afraid of growing up, but then when you come in and stop it, I start… like, ‘which future was better’? The town isn’t suffering and all I can think about is how it affects _me._ That feels like how a bad person would think. And, like… when you blew up at me earlier, I thought you were being a jerk, but maybe… maybe I _deserved_ to be put in the hospital for that…”

Future Mabel cleared her throat and sat forward, gently clasping her past self’s hands within her own. The size difference was striking. She stared right into her younger self’s eyes.

“Mabel, please, _please_ don’t blame yourself for this, and don’t apologize for being scared. You’re only 12, it’s natural to be scared of your future at that age; Dipper might hide it better, but I bet you a bajillion dollars, he’s scared, too, deep down; just ‘cause he has plans, doesn’t mean he knows they’ll work. ...A-and besides, I blamed myself for 10 years, and it didn’t fix anything, all it did was make me feel all gross and useless and… Bill tricked us, like he tricked everyone else. He caught us with our pants down, when we were scared, when we were angry, and he promised us a quick fix. But life doesn’t work that way; there’s no quick fixes. Sometimes you… y-you can’t just hug it out. You can’t get a do-over. And yeah, that’s _scary._ I _wanted_ to tell you you shouldn’t be afraid of growing up, but… I can’t, I just can’t. I’d be lying to you. ...I’m _still_ growing up and I’m afraid…”

Both Mabels could feel tears run down their eyes yet again, almost in sync, but the younger Mabel, at least, couldn’t tell why. Was she sad? Happy? Both? Maybe she was happy but her older self was sad? Or visor-versa?

“S-so… no, you’re _not_ a bad person - if you worry about being a bad person every now and then, that’s not bad, that’s _normal._ You’re a _human being,_ with all the icky make-no-sense caveman feelings that come with it. The only people who _never_ worry about being a bad person are the most likely to actually _be_ bad people.”

Future Mabel stopped to clear her tears again, sniffling, and she slurped up the last of her milkshake.

“Sweet Moses, I can’t believe I just called myself ‘normal’. If anyone else called _me_ normal, I’d make them a _hard_ batch of New Mabel-Juice, see who’s ‘normal’ then!” she exclaimed, slamming a palm down on the table. “The secret ingredient is… uh, something you’re not old enough to drink yet!”

“...Vodka?” Mabel asked.

“Uh… yeah. How’d you know that?”

Mabel chuckled a little, wiping away her own tears. “Haha… I may be 12, but I’m not stupid. I know what booze is!”

Future Mabel raised a finger as if to retort, but stopped before she could. “...Okay, I guess that was a dumb question.”

After a pause, they both laughed.

“HAHAHAHA! Aheh… heh… yeah… sooo, um…” Mabel said after calming down, “whaddya gonna do now?”

Future Mabel slouched in her seat again, scratching the back of her head. “Well, I… I s’pose I should probably take you back to the Shack, the others must be worried about you. Then I’ll be on my way to the UFO crash site to find some more Dork Matter. I know my way around UFOs…” she said, briefly holding up a hand near her mouth to whisper, “I actually got abducted by aliens once. They put a chip in my brain! And _not_ the potato kind, alas.”

“Woah…” Mabel went, mouth wide, before snapping to a look of disappointment. “Do I have to go back to the Shack so soon? I-I know I really should, but… you’re acting like the cool auntie I never had, and I wanna spend more time with you! Could you at least stick around at the Shack for a bit before going? _Pleeeease?”_

“W-well…” Future Mabel began to answer, fidgeting about uneasily. “I s’pose I’m already breaking all the time-laws, and that’s a bad example to set for my kid self… aw, to heck with it!” she finally said, slamming the table again. “Good thing I’m your fake auntie, not your fake mom!”

* * *

Dipper sat at the back of the Speedy Beaver bus, staring out the window, at the evening treeline that had become so familiar to him over this summer. 

He felt a weight bounce against his foot, dangling from the seat. Glancing down, someone had left an old baseball on the floor, and it’d been rolling around the bus for the last ten minutes. 

He yawned. Today had been exhausting, but it wasn’t done yet. He felt his brain urging to think about something, to keep him awake - in lieu of chewing on a pen, he picked up the baseball and began tossing it up and down in his palm.

He hadn’t really had much time to do any real thinking that day. Between looking after the rift, getting the adhesive to seal it up, rescuing Great-Uncle Ford from that prison drone, and recovering the rift from Mabel’s backpack, there’d been a sense of urgency all day. When he accepted Ford’s offer to become his apprentice, he was in the midst of an adrenaline rush, and his excitement at the possibility of staying in Gravity Falls forever; the one place he felt he could really fit in, learning from the one man he could really relate to; had been clouding his thoughts.

Now that he had some time to himself on this quiet bus, he’d been reconsidering his decision. 

When Mabel blew up at him earlier, he honestly couldn’t comprehend why. This _is_ a huge opportunity for him, one he might not get ever again. It certainly beats going back to Piedmont, unchallenged by anything, surrounded by small-minded bullies. That was _his_ knee-jerk reaction.

But it was obvious in hindsight - Mabel was afraid of growing up without him. She’s always been more of a ‘kid’ than him. She embraced being cute, while Dipper had always hated being called cute, being underestimated because he’s ‘just a kid’. But he had to admit to himself, though he’s not afraid of _growing up,_ he had reasons to be afraid of his future. 

Like his plans not working out. This summer has taught him that even the best-laid plans can go wrong. All his attempts to win over Wendy failed. Using the Gnomes against Gideon failed. Getting the eye of those government agents backfired on him twice over.

Then there was the ever-crushing pressure to conform to society’s narrow view of what’s acceptable… he’s always sought validation and acceptance, but this summer has also taught him he could stand to be _himself_ a bit more. What’s the point of being accepted if you have to turn into a different person in the process?

Maybe he jumped at the chance to stay with Ford because he was afraid of having to leave Gravity Falls behind for a boring, humdrum existence in copy-pasted suburbia. But that had only been bearable to start with because he had Mabel with him. She can be kind of annoying and selfish sometimes, but she’s always been there for him.

He smiled and chuckled a little - guess he and Mabel really aren’t so different, in that respect.

He put the baseball down for a bit and brought up his backpack. He opened it up, taking out Mabel’s phone - he’d brought it along with him because he didn’t have one of his own. He considered calling Ford and talking about the details of his apprenticeship.

Maybe he could let Mabel stay here with him, too? She’d like that. Right? ...But then again, there’s the matter of their parents, and her friends back home… and that’s assuming _if_ Ford would even accept. Dipper hadn’t really thought much about it - one of several things blocked out by excitement and adrenaline - but the way Ford had talked about her...

_‘And isn't it suffocating? Dipper, can you honestly tell me you never felt like you were meant for something more?’_

_‘Let me guess: Mabel didn’t take it well?’_

_'It’s safer to assume it’s a matter of ‘when’ she breaks it, not ‘if’.'_

_‘We can worry about her later!’_

_‘I presume you’re off chasing your sister on your own, then?’_

Dipper tried to shake off those thoughts. Great-Uncle Ford likes her, too, right? He entrusted her with the Unicorn hair, at least. Besides, surely he was just talking about giving him room to grow on his own. Yeah. That had to be it. He can grow a bit on his own, Mabel can grow a bit on her own. It’s a win-win. Ford must have thought of that. He’s not cruel, he’s just… pragmatic.

Dipper decided then that he wanted to distract himself. With Mabel’s phone still in his hand, he tried calling Wendy again. He’d been trying on and off for the past ten minutes. He wanted to meet with her at the hospital in town, in case Mabel had gone somewhere else and they needed to find her; but for some reason, she wasn’t picking up.

“Come on, come on, Wendy… where are you…?”

 _“Hey, uh… leave me a message or whatever, unless your name’s Mark Epstein,”_ her pre-recorded voicemail message spoke up yet again.

“Ugh…” Dipper grunted in annoyance. He put the phone away and started tossing the baseball up and down again.

Something else occurred to him; he’d thought of his parents. Would they even be okay with this? Ford had said they’d be fine, but he didn’t really _know_ them. He’d been on the other side of the portal for thirty years. There’s no telling how they’d react to this new uncle that appeared out of nowhere and wanted their son to move in with him. What if mom and dad put their foot down and said ‘no’? Then he’d have to go back home _anyway,_ and he’d have put his sister through all that pain for nothing.

That’s just the thing - Gravity Falls isn’t _home,_ not really. It’s exciting, it’s different, it’s a place where he can be who he truly is, but a _home_ is a place where you can relax, and live in peace, and not have to deal with Weird horrors every other day. Besides, if he lived here doing lab work with Ford, who’s to say it wouldn’t get old? Then it’d just be a town no different from any other town, and that would _suck._ Ford himself said it earlier, at the crash site - the existence of alien life was ‘meh’ to him now. Gravity Falls was an _escape_ from normality; living there with Ford would probably defeat the point.

Like it or not, he’s gonna have to stare down normality someday. So would Mabel. She wanted to delay it, he wanted to fast-forward past it, but it made no difference. The chance of staying with Ford was his own way of making summer last forever.

_‘Things change. Summer ends.’_

He was right. _That’s_ why he couldn’t stay.

_I can’t stay here. I have to go back home. I have to go back to my old life,_ he kept thinking, but he still wasn’t sure he was ready to let go. He had the phone in front of him, he could call Ford at any time, tell him ‘sorry, I’ve thought about it, and I’m grateful, but I can’t be your apprentice’. 

But… but this was all so much bigger than him and Mabel and everyone else. Ford couldn’t handle his responsibilities by himself, he was way too old. Right? He _had_ to accept it.

Before he could think about it even more, he felt the bus lurch beneath him as it braked hard, almost knocking him from his seat. He scooted towards the middle of the back seat, getting a look at the front of the bus. At this time of evening - almost nighttime, with the sky outside becoming darker by the second - he was the only one on the bus besides the driver. They’d stopped because a giant tree trunk had fallen onto the road.

Dipper grumbled to himself; isn’t this just typical? He’s in a rush to make sure his sister is okay, and then _this_ happens.

“Uhh… ‘old up there, kiddo,” the sunglasses-wearing bus driver said, looking back at him. “There’s a tree blockin’ us up ahead.”

“You don’t say?” Dipper replied, rolling his eyes.

The bus driver apparently didn’t pick up on his sarcasm. He got out of his seat and headed outside, presumably to call someone about getting the tree out the way.

Dipper didn’t pay him any mind; he sat back and took Mabel’s phone out again. Then he just… stared at it. For a good thirty seconds, if not more. He didn’t know what to do. Felt like both options available to him were simultaneously the best and worst ones. ...Maybe it’d be best if he thought about this logically. Think, Dipper. He can make lists, graphs, diagrams. Perhaps if he drew himself a good ol’ fashioned flowchart, he could work this out. He put the phone down next to him and started rummaging around in his backpack for one of his notepads.

He yawned again, feeling his eyelids getting heavier. All this thinking appeared to have backfired on him, overtaxing his brain. He wished he was old enough to drink coffee. That’s one thing he’s gonna look forward to in his future; the ability to pull epic all-nighters like Great-Uncle Ford does.

He put the backpack down. Maybe he ought to have a lie down, he thinks. Just a quick rest. He’s not going to fall asleep, of course, then he’d miss his stop. Just… recover some energy. Not like he’s got much else to do besides think about stuff, and if he thinks about stuff for much longer he’ll doze off _anyway._

He put the baseball in his backpack and placed it against the window like a pillow, leaning up against it. Yep, this is comfy. Very comfy. Perfect, optimal position for recovering energy. Not sleeping. Just recovering. His eyelids were getting heavier and heavier, and soon he could barely keep them open, but that’s what… he was… intending… it’s just… letting them… recover… energy…

Not… falling…asleep… too much… to… do… tonight…

He drifted off.

_‘HOOOOOOOONK’_

Dipper’s eyes steadily opened, as a… noise blared in his ears. Instinctively, he huddled up, clutching his hands against them.

“Ugghhh, not _now,_ Mabel…” he muttered to himself, yawning, waving his hand at nothing in particular. “You’re not even _allowed_ to use the air horn in here…”

_‘HOOOOOOOONK’_

Ten more minutes. He wants ten more minutes. That honking noise can _go away._ So can that… clattering noise against the windows.

He tried to turn over, spreading the drool his mouth had been seeping across his face. Gross, yes, but he didn’t care.

He closed his eyes again. They were still heavy. He could still recover some of that energy. He wasn’t sleeping. ...Wait, wasn’t he?

Unfortunately, his plans were halted far too soon. Dipper’s whole world began to shake, as some inconsiderate person began unsubtly stomping their way down the bus, making a beeline straight for him, accompanied by a female voice cheerfully humming along some old tune he didn’t recognize. Was it Mabel? Nah, not even she can stomp that loudly, and she doesn’t even own any boots.

“Dude, Dipper, wake the hell up!” the figure said, grabbing him by the shoulder and vigorously shaking him.

“Uggghhh, will you cut it out!” he snapped, finally turning around.

He was greeted by a familiar face. A red-headed, freckled one, smiling at him.

“W...W-Wendy?” he said, finally sitting up, rubbing his bleary eyes. 

Yep, that was definitely Wendy. She looked a little different - she was dripping water, her hair looked more like a mass of orange seaweed, and over her usual clothes she was wearing her old, ragged bomber jacket and a pair of sunglasses.

“Dipper, what the hell?! We’ve been lookin’ all over the place for you, man!” she said, throwing her arms wide.

“You have…?” he croaked out. Then he shot up to attention, like he’d felt a lightning bolt surge through him.

“Oh no… I fell asleep, didn’t I? Augh, idiot, _idiot,_ I wasn’t _supposed_ to fall asleep!” he lamented, slapping himself on his hat-bearing head. “Mabel could be _anywhere_ by now, and I…”

He sharply inhaled in an attempt to get his bearings. Okay. No use complaining, it’s better to assess the situation logically. He was still on the bus. He looked around Wendy to ascertain what time it was- oh _God,_ it was pitch-black outside! And _raining,_ too! That must have been that clattering sound.

He got down from the seat and began pacing up and down, hyperventilating. He’d messed up big time. For all he knew, his sister had been kidnapped or something.

“Dipper, my main man, my ace in the hole…” Wendy said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “calm your horses or whatever.”

Though he’d long since gotten over his Wendy obsession, feeling her hand on him still had a certain soothing effect. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from shaking - and not just because the cool rainfall air was seeping in from outside.

“Wendy, how can you be so casual about this?! I-I-it’s… I don’t even know what time it is, a-and Mabel… she could be anywhere!”

“Relax, _geez._ Look. Soos called me earlier. He told me you went out to the hospital to find your sister or whatever, but you never called him back to say you arrived, so I went out to find you and… _yeah._ Now c’mon, let’s _gooooooo!”_ she said, impatiently tugging him along by the arm.

Dipper didn’t see any point arguing with her, and besides, he had more pressing issues - especially since he was about to walk around outside in the rain. Stepping outside, he instinctively quickened his pace, holding his arms over his head, even though he knew full well it wouldn’t do him any good - like those old PSAs from the 50s, telling kids to ‘duck and cover’ if a nuke went off. Or was it the 40s? He can’t remember, the needle-sharp raindrops kept throwing off his thoughts.

Soon, he and Wendy turned the corner, and he saw Soos’ truck parked up behind the bus - so that’s what the honking noise was - but Soos himself was nowhere to be seen. So Wendy must have driven herself here, despite being only fifteen.

“Um, did you get a driver’s license?” he asked her.

“Nope! No need, doofus!” she answered, as though he was an idiot for asking. Well, that did sound like a suitably Wendy thing to do. She _is_ the same girl who told him that things that get you in trouble are fun.

Soon, they’d clambered inside the truck, and off they went. Dipper saw no sign of the bus driver, but Wendy assumed he was off taking a leak or something. She had no issue driving around the tree in their path. Knowing that he was looking for Mabel, he didn’t even need to ask for a lift into town. He was about to check Mabel’s phone again to see if maybe she’d already gone back to the Shack, but it had gone dead while he was asleep. Typical. Wendy said she still wasn’t there, anyway, so it would have been pointless.

He looked back at her; she was currently operating the steering wheel with one hand, the other arm resting against the door, her face bearing a pursed lip of indifference. Combined with her jacket and sunglasses, if Dipper didn’t know any better, he’d think she was trying too hard to look cool. Which was unnecessary, because again, she’s _Wendy._

“Uh… Wendy, why are you wearing sunglasses at night?” he asked, scratching behind his ear.

“Glare of the headlights. An’ also ‘cause they’re cool. Duh,” she answered without looking at him. Or maybe she did. It was impossible to tell with the damn sunglasses.

Dipper shrugged it off. Maybe she was going through a phase or something. She _was_ halfway through high school.

“So anyway,” she said, actually turning to face him, “what was up between you and Mabel, dude? I thought you were, like, ‘Mystery Twins’ or somethin’.”

Dipper sighed and stared out the window, resting his head on his hand. “I got into a fight with her. Great-Uncle Ford asked me to be his apprentice once the summer was over. But that would mean I wouldn't go back home. It would mean growing up without Mabel… she didn't take it well and she ran off into the forest. She couldn't even look me in the eye.”

“Aw, man. That’s a bummer,” Wendy said. “So, uh… you gonna do it?”

“I dunno… it seemed pretty cool at first, like a dream come true, but… I’ve been thinking, and… I know my sister wants summer to last forever, but I think I realized me accepting the offer… I’m no different. I _also_ want summer to last forever. You know, no more school, no more bullies, no more strict bedtimes or parental curfews. Fighting monsters by day, solving all the world’s riddles by night. But… that’s all it is, it’s just a dream. Besides, I don’t think I can leave Mabel behind. Surely you’d know, these awkward teenage years are when we need support more than ever. We’ve only made it _this_ far because we’ve had each other. She’s not… she’s not _‘suffocating…’”_

He repeated that last sentence with a tinge of venom. Saying it out loud, he realized how heartless Great-Uncle Ford had been, to say something like that about her. Did he not even _care_ that she probably risked her life to get that Unicorn hair for him? Never mind the fact that if it weren’t for her, he’d still be trapped on the other side of the portal, while _Dipper_ was the one screaming at her to shut it down.

He probably meant well, but… _damn._

“Well…” Wendy said, leaning in closer, “between you an’ me, I think you should totally go for it.”

Dipper looked back at her, surprised. “Wait… really?”

“Yeah, duderino! I mean, most people would _kill_ to get that kind of opportunity. Always follow your dreams, man! Don’t let anyone get you down!”

“I-I guess, but-”

“Besides, ya gotta admit, your sister has been kinda… yanno,” she said, making a sort of see-saw gesture with her palm. “I mean, just think about that whole sock opera beeswax. She didn’t have any problem takin’ your journal for her play, or ditchin’ you when you needed her! Maybe she needs a lesson in not takin’ you for granted. An’ you’ve worked _hard_ to earn your Great-Uncle’s respect, man. I mean, who’d sacrifice everythin’ they worked for just for their dumb sister? I know I wouldn’t, my brothers are all testosterone-poisoned apes. But hey! That’s just my two cents, take ‘em or leave ‘em” she finished, holding up her hands.

Dipper’s mouth hung open as she finished ranting at him. This… was _not_ a side of Wendy he’d seen before.

“Wh-… seriously? I thought you liked her!”

“C’mon, man, I just didn’t wanna hurt her feelings. You know she can be kind of a crybaby, too. Besides, there’s lots o’ stuff I don’t tell ya. Like all my gross hormone problems. I just wanted to get it off my chest before summer’s over. But like I said, that’s just my opinion! Doesn’t count for much. I’m still gonna help you find her, don’t you worry yo’self.”

Dipper stared at her. He wasn’t sure whether to be shocked, angry, or confused. Was she joking? Because even if she _was,_ it wasn’t very funny. She _did_ say she had some hormone problems, but… was this a girl thing he didn’t understand? It didn’t make any sense.

He decided to slouch into his seat, fiddling with that old baseball he'd found on the bus (turned out it was a more than acceptable substitute for chewing on a pen, and less chance of ink poisoning, to boot). He could puzzle this out later, right now he needed to focus on finding Mabel. Then maybe he’d tell her about this sudden shift in Wendy’s opinion - or perhaps she’d thought this way all along. He wasn’t sure which option was worse. 

Maybe she was just having a bad day. Yeah, that was probably it. She _did_ kinda lose it back when Tambry and Robbie first got together. Plus, High school _is_ starting up again, and from what he understood, it’s a pretty nasty time all around for teens - all the more reason for him and Mabel to face it together, he supposed. Tomorrow, she’ll say sorry she was a jerk, Mabel will forgive her - because that’s just how she is - and they’ll hug it out.


	5. Will It Blendin?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stan makes an unlikely new friend, and Future Mabel gets an expensive tooth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To avoid confusion, the first part takes place shortly after Dipper and Ford's interaction in Chapter 2 - Blendin has only just arrived.
> 
> This chapter also contains some more illustrations. One of them is Future Dipper (because it didn't seem fair that Future Mabel got one but not her bro-bro), and the other is... you'll see. Full disclosure, I'm not a good artist, and I try to keep it as close to the show's style as possible, so I rely very heavily on official references and whatnot. I just want to adequately visual some things.

_“Fillin’ the woods with m’signs, doobity-doo, it’ll take Sixer years to remove ‘em all…”_

Stan cheerfully sung to himself as he came back to the Mystery Shack from another round of late evening sign-hammering out in the woods. Or at least, it was a convincing imitation of cheerfulness.

He knew there was little point advertising the Shack since it wasn’t going to exist anymore by the end of the next week, courtesy of Poindexter downstairs. But he’d been doing this for 30 years; old habits die hard. Then he realized that if he kept putting up signs, tourists would keep coming to the Shack long after it had closed, giving Ford no shortage of grief. Then Ford would have to explain to them what he’d done. Kids would cry, parents would yell in his face, or write letters of complaint, or maybe even punch him.

The thought made him grin. Yes, it was petty, childish, immature, and so on, but he didn’t care. He was about to get evicted from the only true home he’d known for 30 years. He’d take whatever small comforts he could get.

And right now, what he _really_ wanted was a stiff drink.

As he walked over to the fridge to retrieve a cold bottle of Root™-brand Beer (not to be confused with the non-alcoholic drink also called root beer), he noticed he had a guest. Who for some reason was tied to a chair in the middle of the room, with the curtains shut and a bare lightbulb swaying from the ceiling, like any second now some maniac in a bloodstained military uniform was about to come in and start torturing the poor guy.

The guy in question was a stocky, almost-bald man in a grey jumpsuit, and from the looks of things someone had already been roughing him up; his nose was broken and covered in dry blood, with only a bandaid slapped on it, and he was missing a tooth.

“Oy…” Stan went, moving in to get a better look at him. “Uh… you okay there, buddy?”

The stocky guy groaned, stirring, and slowly raised his head. Then he gasped and opened his beady eyes as wide as he could, not that it made a huge difference.

“Huh? Wh-wh-where am I?! What’s going on?!” he asked, frantically looking around the room. Before Stan could even begin to think of an answer, he started violently squirming in his seat like a hyperactive child.

“C’mooooooon, what is this?! Oooooh… w-w-wait, this is about- oh, _time-damnit,_ I am dead, I am _SO dead!”_

“Ugh…” Stan grunted in annoyance, turning back to the fridge. Whatever this was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to get involved. Part of him said he should just leave, clearly this was Ford’s doing. Who else would drag this squeaky-voiced sap here? But another part of him said he should stick around, find out what this guy’s deal is. He’d been tied to a chair and beaten once, he could relate. Ford wouldn’t be happy, so… _good!_

Deciding he might want to save getting tipsy for when Ford came back and explained what cloak-and-dagger super-nerd stuff he was up to now, he settled for taking out a Pitt Cola instead.

The guy in the chair gasped again. “DEAR TIME BABY, NOT THE TIME-CAN! D-DON’T OPEN IT, PLEASE, I-I-I-I’LL TELL YOU ANYTHING YOU WANT TO KNOW!”

Stan’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“You uh… kinda twitchy, huh? ...Yanno, this, uh… ‘s just a drink.”

“You can’t time-psyche me out! That’s obviously a device that, when shaken, produces a temporal stasis field that- _NOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAA-”_

He screamed before finishing his sentence as Stan casually cracked open the can, as though this nerd mechanic-looking guy wasn’t even there.

“-AAAAAAAAAAA-ohhhh-kay, I guess it… really wasn’t…” he sheepishly admitted seconds later, coughing awkwardly.

Stan sighed before taking a swig of his cola and pulling up a chair, sitting down in front of the guy. “Look, buddy, you ain’t makin’ this easy for me. I’m just as in the dark as you ‘ere. But somethin’s clearly goin’ on. Both my great-niblings have run off, one of ‘em’s pretty much broken, the other’s in way too deep with my nerd brother, an’ said nerd brother has obviously dragged you in ‘ere but don’t trust you enough with all his weird technology to bring you down to his stupid basement lab, so he turns _my_ kitchen into freakin’ Guantanamo Bay! An’ there’s no way _he’s_ gonna tell me what this is about, so…”

“A…” the guy made a noise, looking incredulous. “A-are you even listening?! I-I-I said I’d tell you anything! Aw geez, they didn’t tell me how to resist _torture_ in employee time-orientation… if I make it outta this, I’m filing a complaint with the time-union!”

“Good to know. Start with yer name, what is it?” Stan said, slouching in his seat, one arm dangling behind the back.

“Blendin Blenjamin Blandin, Time Anomaly Removal Crew, Year Twenty-Sñevety-Twelve!” he said with confidence - clearly that’s the one thing they _had_ trained him to do. Besides… removing time anoma-whatsits.

“So… time traveler, huh? Screw it, why not? There’s every other form o’ Weird garbage in this town as it is, might as well add time travel to the pile. Actually…” Stan stopped to think, scratching his stubbly chin.

He remembered what had happened a few minutes ago; that twenty-something rosy-cheeked woman in pink boots who claimed to be his niece-in-law, banging on the door, asking where Dipper and Mabel were and then running off into the woods while yelling something about robots. 

Stan had suspected who she _really_ was. She had the same face and voice as Mabel, she called him ‘Grunkle’ and ‘Stanley’ (his 30-year switcheroo with his twin still wasn’t common knowledge around town), and she was just as bad at lying as her, too. Besides, it’s not like the Sauvageons were in any hurry to get to know him before, why the hell would they start now? The possibility that she was _literally_ an older version of Mabel somehow seemed like the most sensible option.

In hindsight, he wondered if perhaps he should have gone after her, but he’d been too blindsided by her rapid-fire words - another Mabel-like thing - to do anything but stare. Hearing time travel is an actual thing that has been invented… or… _will_ be invented, or whatever… just confirmed his suspicions.

He clicked his fingers, pointing at Blendin, or Blarblar, or whatever he said his name was. “Yep, that’d explain a lot.”

“It would! I-I mean, would it? Wh-what do you mean?!”

“Just a few minutes ago, this weird lady came up to me. _Pretty_ sure she was my great-niece Mabel, from… I dunno, ten, maybe twenty years in the future? She kinda reminded me of my aunt Shprintze. Big gal. Liked a cuddle. Must run in the family.”

“Your M-M-M-M-Mabel? Wait…” Blendin said, glancing at the floor, clearly puzzling something out in his mind. Then he snapped to attention.

“AUGH, of course, OF COURSE! Mabel Pines, Stanford Pines, Pines this, Pines that, PINES _PINES PINES!”_ he ranted, spraying spittle in Stan’s face. “Why is it that whenever I get mixed up with your dumb family, I-I get thrown in jail or _humiliated_ in front of thousands of time-citizens or possessed by extradimensional entities or knocked out and tied to a chair l-l-like a… l-like a… SOMETHING YOU TIE TO A CHAIR! We don’t tie things to chairs in my time, n-not since time-rope went obsolete!”

“Woah woah, ‘old up one sec, baldy-”

 _“BLENDIN!_ AND I’M NOT BALD ANYMORE!”

“Whatever,” Stan waved him off, taking another swig of his cola. _“You_ know Mabel? _And_ Ford?”

“Um… aren’t _you_ Stanford Pines? I-I-I mean, you look exactly like the picture Bill showed me…”

Stan raised a finger, about to correct him, but stopped himself before the words came out. He’d been pretending to be Stanford for years, what would the harm be in doing it some more? If it meant he’d get an inside line on his brother’s antics. How else is he gonna find out just what he’s been up to?

“Yep, that’s me, Stanford. The brother I was talkin’ about before, that was just Ford. On its own. Stanford and Ford. Our pa had _zero_ imagination,” he said matter-of-factly, taking another swig. That last part wasn’t even a lie. “Ya might need to jog my memory on a few things, I think I hit my head on the ceilin’ when I got outta bed this mornin’. Who’s Bill?”

Blendin’s mouth hung open for a moment, before he bit his lip, making a slightly pathetic whining sound, as though he’d just realized he said too much.

“...B-Bill Cipher, he was the triangular extradimensional entity that stole my body! I-I-I was having a bad day, and Time Baby kept making fun of me, a-and I was kinda just regretting my life choices in general, a-and he came to me in a dream and said he could help me out, if I helped him get even with… w-well, _you!_ He told me you made a deal with him thirty-something years ago to h-help him build some portal so Bill could come visit this dimension, but you screwed him over, but it didn’t matter ‘cause some fat numbskull switched it on a few weeks back and left some interdimensional rift, and he wanted me to get it for him! I-I-I-I _swear,_ that’s all I know!”

Stan’s eyes slowly widened the longer Blendin’s explanation went on for. He remembered seeing the name ‘Bill Cipher’ before, in one of Poindexter’s precious journals, next to drawings of some cartoon triangle guy. He knew Ford had been up to _something_ with this guy - apparently he was his ‘muse’ or something - but they had a falling out, and then Ford went a bit nuts and scribbled all over some of the pages. ‘MY MUSE WAS A MONSTER’, ‘F WAS RIGHT’, and so on. 

Stan had no idea that he’d built that stupid portal for him, though. Now this ‘Bill’ was back and causing trouble for his family? And possessing people, apparently, if that comment about stealing Blendin’s body was true. Stan assumed that the ‘fat numbskull’ Blendin mentioned was him - figures, he’s become so cemented as ‘the dumb one’ that even freaky triangle demons see him that way - so him turning on the portal and bringing Ford back created a… what was it again?

“Uh… I gotta be honest,” he said, dishonestly, “I been drinkin’ a lot over the past thirty years an’ I think my IQ’s dropped by about five million points. Yer gonna have to remind me what an… interdimensional whatsit is.”

Blendin swallowed. “I-it’s like a… a tear in the universe. Or something. Bill said he could use it to visit this dimension and do...wh-whatever! Hnnnng, I don’t know, I studied time-physics, not space-physics! N-not that it’s done me any good! I-I-I-I never even _wanted_ to be on the Time Anomaly Removal Crew, anyway! I wanted to design amusement park rides, but my stupid close-minded dad kept telling me there’s no Time-Credits in amusement parks anymore! H-he didn’t even listen to my ‘Line-Skipping Machine’ idea! Long lines are the number one reason amusement parks declined, so just jump forward to when you’re at the front of the line! I-I-I’m stunned no-one’s done it already!”

Stan tuned out the latter half of Blendin’s next rant; he leaned back into his chair, sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Okay. So his brother made a deal with some evil triangle dream demon to let him into their world, and he’d been keeping a _tear in the universe_ in the Shack’s basement. That little nugget of information would have been _really_ useful to know 30 years ago. Or, not even that, when he’d come out of the portal would have also been nice.

“Ford, Ford, Ford, you _idiot…”_ he muttered under his breath. _Now_ he felt it was the right time for a stiff drink.

That just left a big unanswered question - why the hell wasn’t he told about this? The only reason Stan could think of was… oh, who’s he kidding, it’s obvious why. Ford thought he was an idiot who’s only good at breaking things. Just like his stupid science project from 40 freaking years ago. Probably too full of himself to admit he was duped, too; and he says _Stan’s_ the petty, self-centred one. Stan grimaced; he had half a mind to kick him right in the nuts for keeping this from him.

Just then, Soos wandered in from the living room, tapping away at his computer-phone. Heading for the fridge, he casually turned to face the kitchen’s two occupants, not even caring that it was like a scene from _Basin Puppies_ in there.

“Hey, Mr. Pines. Hey, Blendo-matic.”

“IT’S _BLEEEEENDIIIIIIIIIIN!”_ the irate time-traveler screamed at him, making Stan clutch his ear in pain. At that frequency, he was surprised he hadn’t broken his hearing aid. “WHY DOES NO-ONE REMEMBER MY NAME?!”

Soos opened the fridge and started rummaging around it. “I dunno, dude… I mean, no offence, but you’re kinda bland,” he said, emerging with a Pitt in his hand. “Like… Bland-in. Woah, that’s, like… a pun!”

“BLANDIN IS MY TIME-SURNAME, YOU ILLITERATE _TIME-BARBARIAN!”_

“AAAGH!” Stan grunted in pain as Blendin shrieked right next to his ear again. Angry enough with life in general as it is, he grabbed Blendin by the collar and got right up in his face. 

“WILL YOU _SHUT YER TIME-YAP?!_ BAH, NOW YA GOT _ME_ DOIN’ IT!” he bellowed, pointing at himself.

Blendin swallowed hard. “S-sorry, sir…”

Stan sighed again, collapsing into his seat. “‘Ey, Soos. Couldya get me a Root™ Beer? ...Actually, make it two, one fer me an’ one for Tweak over here. He seems like he could do with a depressant in his bloodstream right now.”

“Oh! Um… I-I-I appreciate the gesture, but, I dunno if you noticed…” Blendin said, squirming again to emphasise that his hands were bound.

“Right, right. Get ‘im a straw, too.”

* * *

Once they’d finished up at Greasy’s, Mabel paid for everything with some of her 2022 money - claiming it was a misprinted bill and that Susan could probably sell it online for fifty times its listed value (Stan had rubbed off on her) - and they made their way to the Mall. They could have just headed to Soos’ truck, but she promised she’d show her kid self the Mabel-Mobile.

It was right there where she’d left it, under the tarp. Going from the way Past Mabel’s pupils grew and her mouth dropped, if there was any lingering doubts in her mind that she wasn’t dealing with her future self, all that evaporated the moment she saw it.

The Mabel-Mobile (also known as the Pain-Bow, the Shooter Star 5000, and the Pink Russian) was her pride and joy - 2800 kilograms of raw sparkly road-struction! It was originally some old Soviet-era military surplus transport she’d bought back in Russia, kinda like the classic hippie van’s warlike Eastern Bloc brother. It used to be all dull green, which just wouldn’t do - her first priority had been to paint it hot pink. Then over time she added to it, until it barely resembled what it once was.

There were fake eyelashes attached to the headlights, graffiti on the sides - including a huge shooting star mural with ‘TASTE THE PAIN-BOW!’ written inside it - and the back was covered in bumper stickers of every colour of the rainbow, with such phrases as ‘Honk If You Think I’m Cute!’, ‘Why You Drivin’ So Cray-Cray?’, and of course, ‘GRAVITY FALLS - Never Mind All That!’ (which forced Mabel to explain to her kid self what the NeMAT Act was, since it would hopefully never be passed in this new timeline).

Mabel had to admit to herself, sometimes she didn’t show the Mabel-Mobile the respect it deserved - even after only two years of use, it was dirtied and beaten-up. The passenger-side door had even fallen off after she and Dipper pulled off Operation: Saving Private Stan in Mexico (those pug-smuggler guys had _no_ appreciation for art!), forcing Mabel to shop online for a mismatched replacement she hadn’t gotten around to repainting yet. But she could say with confidence that there was no other inanimate object she’d rather bring back in time with her.

When it wouldn’t start again after she’d first made it back, she feared the worst - only the mission to avert Weirdmageddon stopped her from staying behind to bring it back to life. Turned out she needn’t have worried - McGucket’s prototype was just giving off a residual electromagnetic disruption field that messed with the core battery packs. By the time she made it back, it started with no issue.

“Future Me, did you just… did you just use nerd-speak?” her past self had asked after her explanation, dumbfounded.

“Um… yeah, I guess I did.”

Past Mabel gasped with obviously fake horror, slapping her palms on her cheeks. “Oh _NO,_ I’m gonna turn into a nerd! Get me in front of a TV, _stat,_ I need to kill some brain cells before that can happen!”

“Nuh-uh, no way, I’m no nerd! There’s a spectrum! I’m like… just below the ‘nerd’ threshold! Barely!” she stopped to think, scratching the back of her head. “...Okay, maybe I’m a _bit_ of a nerd, so what? _D, D & More D _is actually an ultra off-the-wall fun time if ya give it a chance!”

“Ugghhhhh…” Past Mabel slid her hands down her face, “I can’t believe I just admitted to liking _Homework: The Game…”_

“Ya think that’s bad, just wait ‘til you see my glasses!”

_“UGGHHHHHHHH…”_

It wasn’t long before they got the Mabel-Mobile rolling, and they were on the road. The traffic in town was much lighter now than it had been when Soos drove her to the Shack earlier, and so it only took five minutes to get out into the woods. Past Mabel had spent those five minutes playing Car Seat Treasure Hunt, not finding much besides stitches, duct tape and ‘all the stains’, until the sight of the woods made her settle into her seat.

“Sooooo, just wonderin’,” she said, folding her hands on her lap, her tone very quickly going downhill from that cheery opening, “when I see Dipper… what should I tell him? Like, the whole reason all this happened was because I was mad at him for accepting Grunkle Ford’s offer. I-I mean, that’s pretty much his dream. I should have been happy for him, but instead I threw a tantrum and made it all about _me._ He probably thinks I’m a big jerk now…”

Mabel swallowed hard, gripping the steering wheel tight, trying to focus on the road. She hated how eerily similar her past self’s situation was to her own, and all on the 10th anniversary of Weirdmageddon, to boot. 

She looked back at her past self - again, she was staring at her, looking increasingly worried the longer the silence went on for. She sat up straight - she’d been dancing around the issues all night, the least she could do right now was give her kid self a straight answer - and the answer she’d have given her past self whatever year it was.

“If I were you… I’d tell him that no matter what he chooses to do, I’m happy with it, because he’s the bestest bro-bro anyone could ask for, and I love him and I care about him and nothing will ever change that.”

Past Mabel nodded, permitting herself a little smile. “Yeah… yeah, that’s pretty much what I was thinking of.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Mabel said as she took the Mabel-Mobile down a smaller side-road into some deeper woods. “You know he won’t leave you forever even if he _does_ accept it, right? Like, I don’t see my Dipper literally _all_ the time, but we chat online at least once every week, usually more than that, and we try to see each other when we’ve got time off from our usual beeswax. When you get older, time passes way faster, anyway. It’s like, you’ll be on the bus back home to California, and then _‘zhwoop’,_ that’s one year of school just _gone!”_

Past Mabel chuckled, idly playing with her hair. “Hehe… yeah, I know… say, random thought… what does he look like?”

“You _know_ what he looks like, silly! Kinda like you, if you were a sweaty, nervous boy in a pine tree hat!”

“No duh, I meant _your_ Dipper! In the future!”

“Oh, right. _Doi!”_ Mabel said, slapping a palm against her forehead. “Hang on, I got a picture of ‘im somewhere…”

Mabel took one hand off the steering wheel to rummage around for her phone. Looking through her gallery, she found her most recent photo of 22-year-old Dipper - him standing on a rock overlooking San Francisco bay, with his hand held over his eyes, like some old-timey sailor. 

He was much taller now, of course, and he had a little pudge, but he was still smaller and skinnier than Mabel. He had that trademark square jaw that all Pines guys seemed to develop, along with bushier hair and a bit of scraggly stubble on his chin. Mabel had to admit, his fashion sense had improved (or worsened, depending on who you ask) since he was 12 - he used to just throw on whatever clothes he could find, now he takes pride in wearing his dorky forest-patterned jacket. Still liked wearing a hat, though - always with some sciencey thing on it - and with his glasses on he looked uncannily like a young Grunkle Ford.

Mabel handed the phone to her younger self, who immediately gasped at the sight. “Ooooh! Somehow he got even _nerdier,_ but in, like… a cool way? He looks exactly like that guy who shows up in every sci-fi disaster movie, yanno, when the evil military guy is like ‘grrrr we must drop a nuke on the asteroid monster!’” she said, putting on a gruff, growly voice, “then there’s always a geeky science guy in the room who’s like ‘nooooo we must learn to understand them! With math!’, that’s him, that’s Dipper!”

“Hahah, yeah, he _totally_ does…” Mabel weakly responded, knowing how accidentally accurate her past self’s assessment of his latest career choice was.

As she glanced out the window at her broken side-mirror, out of the corner of her eye she could see another car parked at the side of the road behind them. It appeared to be an old-fashioned black limousine, with the letters ‘N W’ in its tall grille.

“Wait, is that Preston Northwest’s limo?!” she blurted out.

The entire van lurched suddenly as she slammed her foot on the brakes, her past self only avoiding getting shoved off her seat by her seatbelt. “Oof!” she grunted as it dug into her chest. Their ears were consumed by the sound of squealing tires, and the faint scent of burning rubber filled the air - she really needed to seal up her windows again.

Finally, the Mabel-Mobile came to a complete stop. Mabel immediately scrambled to undo her seatbelt.

“Um, what’s going on?” her past self asked, rubbing her bandaged head.

“Wait right there, I just gotta do something real quick! Be back in a jiffy!”

With that, she clambered out of the van, slamming the door shut behind her. With a grin she’d admit probably made her look evil, she began jogging back down the road to where the Northwest limo was parked. She noticed that not only was the limo there, the man himself was standing around behind it, dressed in one of his usual Suits of Rich Guy Jerkitude, pacing up and down and yelling something over the phone. That’d probably explain why he hadn’t noticed her yet. The limo seemed to be missing a wheel, but with no sign as to what caused it.

“Well, move the helicopter with your bare hands, man! We have _three_ helipads for a reason! And be quick about it, I’m stranded out here in the woods like some medieval peasant, because that gangly Corduroy girl _mistreated_ my wheel! We only have enough Blue Label whiskey to last me, my family and my chauffeur for an hour, so you’d better hurry up and untangle those helicopters! I have a hunting rifle in the car, you know; if you dawdle about for much longer, I _will_ resort to practicing my aim on the chauffeur out of starvation and/or boredom!”

“‘EY, _PRESTO!_ I wanna word with you!” Mabel called out to him as she walked by the car, briefly offering a glance inside - Priscilla and Pacifica were both in there, though only the latter acknowledged her presence, with just a subtle twitch of the eyes.

Preston didn’t bother to look back at her, but Mabel caught his body jerking in her direction, as though he was forcing himself not to turn around - it was obvious he knew she was there.

 _“NORTHWEST!_ Look at me when I’m talkin’ to ya!” she called out again, now right next to him, reminding herself of her Grunkle Stan.

 _“Grrrnnnnghhhh…”_ he growled, finally turning around, placing a hand over his phone. “What on _earth_ do you want, you whale of a woman?! Are you from the caterers? If this is about that ‘avocado sourcing’ business, I’m not interested. Now make yourself useful and prepare us some _hors d'oeuvres,_ we’re going to be here a while.”

Preston turned away and went back to his phone, as though he thought the matter was closed. How wrong he was.

“Oh, I can do ya one better! How ‘bout a knuckle sandwich?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Before he could fully process what Mabel just said, she grabbed him by the collar, forcing him to look back at her - and giving him a front-row seat to _Mab-Punch: The Movie!_ , running time: half a second, and ending with the titular fist right in his face.

_“AUUUGGGGHHHH”_ he screeched as Mabel saw one of his teeth fly out, and he turned around, collapsing onto his knees. His phone fell to the ground, shattering. She wanted to say he was just playing up his pain, but considering what she’d done to Blendin earlier, if anything she probably went _easy_ on him.

Shaking, he covered his bloodied mouth with his hand. “MMMGH, MM _TOOTH!_ YUH HPPH ANY IDEA HOW MUCH IPH COSPHH TUH GEHPH THAT WHITENED?!” he tried to rant at her in a muffled voice.

Mabel simply bent over and picked up his tooth from the road beneath them. Feeling a sense of hot fury inside her that she’d been saving for years, she scowled at him, glaring daggers at his eyes, trying to invoke the same kind of fear that Bill had struck into him on the first day of the apocalypse. Going from the way Preston’s eyes went wide, she seemed to have succeeded.

Why had she done that? Well, there were a lot of reasons, probably too many for her to list, and since Weirdmageddon had been averted, he wasn’t going to face karma for his part in it - so a nice, meaty punch to the face was the next best thing.

_“THAT’S_ FOR TREATING YOUR OWN DAUGHTER LIKE A _DOG,_ YOU BAD-MOUSTACHE-HAVIN’ _JERKASS!”_ she bellowed at him, pointing at his face, well aware that Pacifica was in earshot.

She had been about to turn on her heel and stomp back to the van, but at the last moment she turned back and gave him a hard kick in the ribs, knocking him onto his side. “AND _THAT’S_ FOR ALMOST GETTIN’ YOUR ENTIRE STUPID PARTY BURNED ALIVE BY A GHOST!”

With her fists clenched at her sides, she marched over to the limo’s open back window, to see Priscilla and Pacifica staring at her, stunned and speechless. Mabel wiped the look of fury off her face, replacing it with her usual jovial smile almost unnervingly quickly; she made the two of them recoil just by looking at them.

“Hey, Pacifica! Just so ya know, I’m from the future! When ya get older, invest in woodchip recycling, trust me, it’ll work out!” she said to her, before turning away. Before she could leave, she turned back, remembering to add something. “Oh, and yes, that just happened! _Probably_ went a bit overboard, but he had it coming!”

She might have just been imagining it, but she could have sworn Pacifica’s lip twitched upwards, for just a second. Mabel figured she’d be shocked that her father was now lying bloodied on the road behind them like roadkill, groaning through having one of his teeth knocked out, but… surely she must be finding _some_ catharsis in that. The guy conditioned her to obey a _bell._ Who the hell does that?

Mabel finally jogged back to the Mabel-Mobile, clambering back inside to find her past self rummaging around inside her glovebox.

“Hah! Sorry, Past Me, I always wanted to do that!” she admitted, as she got the Mabel-Mobile going again. 

She briefly admired Preston’s tooth that she’d brought along, before stuffing it in her pocket. “I am _definitely_ getting that encrusted into a nice ring for Pacifica’s 23rd birthday. Or maybe a tasteful pendant…”

Past Mabel was so deep inside the glovebox, Mabel couldn’t see her head.

“Uh, didya see what I just did? I punched Preston Northwest in his dumb face!”

Past Mabel gasped and very quickly shot out of the glovebox, hitting her head on the way out. “Ow! Aww, _poop-darnit,_ I missed it! I was too busy admiring all your future glovebox junk!”

“Uh, you okay? Ya kinda hit your head again,” Mabel pointed out - sometimes she had to remind herself that her past self still had a bandage around her head. She wasn’t shaping up to be the _best_ caretaker right now.

“I’m fine, I got a tough noggin! Anyway, what’s this?”

Past Mabel proceeded to pull out a gadget she’d found in her future self’s glovebox - it resembled a futuristic rifle-sized harpoon gun, made of a dull alloy, complete with blinky blue lights, and with ‘McGucket Labs’ printed on the side. Past Mabel hit a button, making a sharp ‘pwing!’ sound as four prongs at the tip of the device extended out, resembling a grappling hook; appropriately enough, since that’s what it _was._

“Oh, that! I was gonna show ya that! Dr. McGucket calls it the Heavy-Duty Interdimensional Magnetic Cabular Anchor Mark III, but I prefeeeeer… _Grappling Hook 2: Electromagnetic Boogaloo!_ The cable’s rated for hauling space debris, and it’s _magnetic!_ In more ways than one, _everyone_ digs it!”

“Oooh, _neato!_ Can I play with it?”

“As if you even had to ask! _BUT NOT IN HERE!”_ she cut in, noticing her past self was about to aim it out the window. “Bad idea, _super_ bad. I used it in here once, and… well, that’s why your door is a different colour.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to imagine that, when Bill showed up in Blendin's dreams and offered him a deal, he painted himself as a victim - he was just an innocent dream entity that wanted to go on vacation to this lovely dimension, but got screwed over by some stuck-up geek for no reason - and Blendin bought it because... well, he's Blendin.


	6. The Root™ Of The Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which all the secrets come out at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourself for angst. What you're about to read is me taking everything I've learned from reading 'Ford gets called out on his BS' stories and throwing it into a blender, which may explain why some of this might seem familiar.
> 
> Also, warning: this chapter contains explicit references to alcohol, characters drinking alcohol, one character is actually drunk... you get the idea. You may have noticed I changed the story's rating from Gen to Teen; I'd already considered it, given the blood in previous chapters and the light swearing, but all the booze in this chapter is what convinced me to take the plunge. Going forward, I don't plan on shoehorning in any stronger swears than the ones I've been using already.

“Wow, I can’t believe my brain would actually do that…”

“I know, right?! I-I mean, Dippy Fresh wasn’t even _ironically_ lovable! He was just… just, _URGH,_ I wanna _rip his head off!”_

The two Mabels were in the midst of a discussion on the many, many things wrong with Mabeland, and to the older Mabel it came as a relief to see they’d arrived back at the Mystery Shack - it meant she could put the thought of that poseur Dipper impostor away before she felt like punching someone who _didn’t_ deserve it.

Parking up next to Grunkle Stan’s car, young Mabel undid her seatbelt and bolted for the door as fast as she could, with older Mabel taking a slower pace - if she’d arrived back in 2012 a few hours sooner, she would have wanted to start things out leisurely, with hugs and coffee all round, but now would do just fine. Neither of the Mabels had any plan of what to do or say once they got in - it was assumed they’d just ‘wing it’.

Before she’d even got back inside, she could hear the sound of raucous, bellowing laughter echoing throughout the house, followed by the slurred, raspy voice of a troublesome time traveler, his speech broken up by the odd hiccup.

“Yanno, y-y-you guys, you… I, I-I’m _smart!_ Way smarter than that dumb Time Baby! I-I could go back in time and invent… time travel before _he_ does. I could invent… _gravity,_ microwaves, Hawaiian pizza… and it’d be me in the history books, _me,_ Blendin Blandin! Inventor of _everything!_ Go suck a lemon, Edison! Y-y-you, you... y-y-y-yyyyyyyam man! _”_

The two Mabels emerged into the kitchen just in time to see the odd scene that had developed in their absence.

Blendin Blandin was standing at the head of the table, littered with poker chips, cards and empty Root™ Beer bottles, holding one such bottle in his hand. He’d undone the top half of his jumpsuit to let it hang loosely from his waist, giving everyone a rare glimpse of his ‘DON’T DO THE TIME-CRIME IF YOU CAN’T DO THE TIME-TIME!’ T-shirt, complete with clocks replacing the ‘O’s. ...For a supposedly covert organization, the T.A.R.C. sure do like announcing their profession.

Sitting on either side of him was a jubilant Soos, still guffawing at Blendin’s antics, and a more indifferent Grunkle Stan - himself holding a bottle and having gone to ‘casual mode’, still in his suit but without his fez and his jacket undone, exposing his beer gut.

“Sheesh, _this guy…”_ Stan said to himself, in a way that sounded both amused and annoyed. Mabel was familiar with the tone.

“GRUNKLE STAN!” Past Mabel yelled as she bolted into the room, immediately gripping her Grunkle tight in a hug before he had a chance to react.

“H-hey, Mabel, you’re back!” he said, returning the hug, looking concerned as he noticed the bandages around her head. “Oy... what _happened_ to ya?”

“Oh, I just got a bump on the noggin, no biggie! I’m probably not supposed to be zippin-a-rippin’ about like this, but eh, what can ya do? Oh, um… s-sorry I ran off earlier, by the way.”

“Eh, it’s fine,” Stan said, ruffling her past self’s hair, “yer a strong kid, I knew you’d bounce back soon enough. Uh… please excuse the stench of… grown-up beverages. I been goin’ through some things.”

The older Mabel _had_ wanted to try and stay out of sight, but she knew the others would see her skulking around sooner or later. Besides, she’s over six feet tall and dressed all in bright pink, stealth feels like a lost cause. She may as well re-affirm that she _is_ indeed who she’s gonna tell them she is. Or… pre-affirm.

She threw caution to the wind and charged in like a thundering rhino, catching Stan in a bear hug of her own - not waiting for her past self to get out the way first.

“OOF! Huh, wha?! What the hell?!” Stan exclaimed, already sounding slightly strained.

 _“GRUNKLE STAN!_ I-I’m sorry I lied to you earlier, I’m not actually Mabel’s aunt, I’m Mabel from the future, I came back in time to do a thing but I messed it up and wound up doing a different thing but it’s okay because I stopped the apocalypse _but then I screwed up again and my past self mighta hit her head on the ground ‘cause of me and I’m really sorry about that but we found out that Greasy’s sells Raspburgers so that’s pretty cool and also I punched Preston Northwest in the face and now I’m here!”_

Everything stopped for about ten seconds as everyone processed what she just rattled off. The only noise was the “mmmf!” muffled struggling of her past self, sandwiched between Stan and her future self.

“O-oh, right…” Mabel said, shifting her hug a little to let her past self squirm free. Her hair was mussed up, but her smile was intact.

“Hnnng…” Stan went, feeling the vice grip of older Mabel’s hug clamp down on his bones. “I-I know, pumpkin… seriously, let go, yer gonna break my spine…”

Mabel released the hug and stepped back, surprised. “Wait, you know?”

Stan stretched, making a ‘pop’ noise as his disturbed bones were set back into place. “Ugh… yeah, ‘course I did. It was obvious. You called me ‘Grunkle’, fer Moses’ sakes. An’ that’s ignorin’ the… well, literally _everythin’_ about how you look, sound, act… I’da been worried if you _weren’t_ Mabel. Plus, Tweak over there…” he said, pointing at Blendin, “just explained to me that time travel exists, so there’s that.”

“Ohhhh yeah…” Mabel went, feeling sweat drop down her face at the sight of the guy; more out of remorse of having indirectly gotten him into trouble again than anything else; she knew he was now harmless since he was inside the anti-Bill shield.

“Hi, Blendin! Sorry I punched you earlier.”

“Ehhh, is fine!” he slurred, collapsing into his seat. “W-w-water under the time-bridge and all that!”

“Woah…” Soos cut in, having been thoroughly stunned by the revelation. “So you taught _yourself_ the Mabel-hug… of course, it all makes sense! And… and I thought you were _hitting_ on me... _nnnhhhrrrr…”_ he shivered. Mabel didn’t want to imagine what sort of gross vibes he must be feeling right now. She just knew they needed to be quelled at once.

“Hey, Past Me! How ‘bout we give ‘im a double dose?”

“I _like_ the sound’a that!”

“Heh! Aw geez, this is gonna be like… the hug to end all hugs!” Soos said as he spread his arms wide, already getting over that awkwardness.

“No way! This is _only the beginning!_ Welcome to Cuddletopia, population: _you!”_

The hug that followed was so strong and so fast, Mabel could have sworn Soos’ eyes began comically bulging out, like his head was about to explode - but going from the grin on his face, he’d have probably been happy with that.

Just then, Mabel’s ear perked up, as she heard the distinct soft ‘slam’ of the gift shop vending machine closing.

“Alright, Mr. Blandin; it took far too long and I hit far too many snags, but I’ve finally got Project Mentem repaired…” she could hear Grunkle Ford say, in his classic ‘man on a mission’ tone. Sure enough, by the time he turned the corner into the kitchen, he had one hand behind his back, the other hand pointing up, and his eyes were either closed or he just glazed over the scene in there, because it took him a few seconds to notice.

When he _did_ notice, he recoiled, looking at everyone in turn.

The older Mabel figured it might be wise to establish her presence first. “Hi, Grunkle Ford!” she said, extracting herself from Ford and stepping towards him. “I’m Mabel from the future! I got here a couple hours ago and I averted Weirdmageddon by punching the time travel guy in the face!” she declared, beaming, with her hands proudly on her hips. _“...You’re welcome!”_

“Weirdma-what-now?” Stan said, scruffling his own hair.

Ford’s mouth dropped. “I… I-I… y-you… but if… and why…” he spluttered, pointing at her, pointing at her past self, pointing at Blendin. After about thirty agonizing seconds of everyone in the room staring at him, he sighed. 

“Okay, one problem at a time!” he declared, stepping forward with renewed confidence. “First of all, Stanley - why has my prisoner been untied?! And why is he inebriated?!”

“H-HEY!” Blendin cut in, slamming a fist on the table; several empty bottled clinked together; one fell off. “I-I-I-I’m _nobody’s_ prisoner, YOU’RE the prisoner! TO THE DUNGEON WITH YOU! _OOOOONE MIIILLIIIIOOOOON YEEEEEAAAAARS DUNGEEEEOOOOON!”_

Shrieking _that_ loudly must have left him exhausted, because he passed out onto the table immediately afterwards. Snoring, Soos got up and hauled him up back into a more comfortable sitting position.

“Gee, I dunno, why’d ya stick the guy in _my_ kitchen instead o’ draggin’ ‘im down to yer stupid lab?” Stan asked, sounding resigned.

“I couldn’t keep him downstairs before Project Mentem was functioning again, he’s a security risk!”

“‘Cause he was possessed by yer ol’ buddy Bill Cipher, right?”

Ford paused, startled.. “H-how did you…?”

“Don’t deny it, Poindexter, Tweak told me everythin’!” Stan raised his voice, standing up from his seat. “Turns out ya didn’t even _need_ yer Project Mentos or whatever, _talkin’_ to ‘im like a normal person woulda worked! Not that _you’d_ know anythin’ about talkin’ to people, like how ya didn’t talk to _me_ about the _tear in the universe_ you’ve been keepin’ in the basement!”

“W-well, yes, but… that’s not…” Ford tried to explain himself, fidgeting his six-fingered hands, his eyes darting around the room.

Before he could say anything, Stan faced the older Mabel. “‘Ey, Big Mabel. Ya say yer from the future, right? This all true?”

Mabel swallowed, her own expression now mirroring Ford’s. She remembered how badly her Grunkles were getting along in the days leading up to - and during - Weirdmageddon; how it had almost cost them the world, literally. She wanted to sigh and resign herself to having to re-live that unpleasantness, but she couldn’t. She had to make an _attempt_ to avert it. Right? But she couldn’t lie, either… maybe if everything gets out into the open, things will turn out okay?

“Um… yeah. Yeah, it’s true.”

“See, what’d I tell ya?” Stan said, with a smirk of vindication briefly on his face. “Ya care t’explain _why_ I wasn’t informed’a this?”

Despite his forcefulness, Ford apparently ignored him - probably thinking he’d ignored much more dangerous things in the Multiverse - and turned to face _her,_ pointing. “And you say you’re from the future? How do we even verify this? For all we know, you could be the Shape-Shifter, or some other manner of doppelganger!”

Before she could even think of an answer, she felt her past self clutching her leg tightly, starting to look frustrated again. “Hey, don’t talk about Future Me like that! I _know_ she’s me! She knows stuff only I’d know, like how many sweaters I’ve worn this summer!”

“Well, maybe she’s also a telepath!”

“Hey, Big Mabel!” Soos called over the second he heard that, without missing a beat, “what number am I thinkin’ of?”

“I have _no idea!”_ the older Mabel answered, as cheerfully as possible.

“See? ...Aww…” Soos said, now sounding disappointed, as if he was actually _hoping_ she was a telepath. That _would_ be pretty cool, though…

“‘Ey, don’t you _dare_ change the subject, Sixer!” an increasingly irate Stan stepped forward, inches from jabbing a finger in his brother’s chest, “you just don’t _want_ ‘er to be from the future, ‘cause if she was, you’d have to admit that _you_ screwed up!”

Ford grunted, almost slapping Stan’s hand away. “Stanley, we don’t have time for this nonsense!”

“‘Nonsense’?! This is yer _family_ we’re talkin’ about here! We deserve answers!”

“Alright, _FINE!”_ Ford raised his voice, throwing his hands in the air, “YES, it’s true! Yes, I made an error in judgement! Yes, I was the one who almost brought Bill into the world! Yes, I’ve been looking after a rift in time-space, the one that _you_ created by overtaxing the portal!”

“Well, _gee,_ maybe it’d have been nice to know _before_ you punched me in the face fer _wastin’_ thirty years o’ my life bringin’ you back! Maybe then I wouldnt’a been missin’ so much ‘important context’!”

“Stanley, you _don’t_ understand! I was trying to protect you!”

This was… not going well. Mabel wanted to intervene somehow, but she had no idea what she could possibly do or say without making things worse. As per usual. Once again, her happiness chart was all messed up and every possible path to repairing it would have undesirable knock-on effects. She looked down at her past self next to her, expecting her to be distressed - maybe she could go for a ‘stop, you’re upsetting Past Me!’ angle… but her past self didn’t look sad right now, she looked _angry._ Like something had just clicked in her mind.

“That’s TOTAL _BALONEY_ and you _know it,_ Grunkle Ford!” Past Mabel spoke up, stepping forward, her shoulders tensed up.

“Mabel, sweetheart, you don’t-”

“No, _YOU_ don’t understand! I almost caused the _end of the world_ ‘cause I had no idea what that dumb techno-snowglobe was! I _would_ have done if Future Me hadn’t pulled off that epic drop-punch outta nowhere!”

“You did what...?”

“Yeah, you heard me right! Bill came to me in his Blendin-shaped finger-puppet, an’ said he could make summer last forever, and I was feeling all… a-all horrible and gross and unhappy ‘cause…” she stopped to clear the lump in her throat, her voice cracking again, “...‘cause Dipper was gonna leave me to stay here with you forever, an’ you were gonna kick Grunkle Stan out and close the Shack, a-and I wasn’t thinking of anyone but myself ‘cause I’m a selfish idiot and I’m really, _really_ sorry, but… I-I wouldn’ta done it if I had known, I _swear!”_

By now, Mabel could see her past self’s eyes watering up again; her tone had gone from angry to penitent, _begging_ for forgiveness. The older Mabel rubbed her forehead, trying to look away - the truth was, she wasn’t even sure she would have done differently even if she _had_ known. Bill knew _just_ the right buttons to push, and he couldn’t have found a better dupe if he’d tried. 

_‘It’s this or you lose your brother forever, Shooting Star! What’ll it be?’_ she could imagine Bill saying.

“Wait, _that’s_ what she was crying about earlier?” Stan said, now physically pushing himself between his brother and the two Mabels. “You asked Dipper to stay with you here forever, without even askin’ Mabel first? I assume ya didn’t bother to ask their parents, either, since they _don’t even know you exist!_ Whaddya tryin’ta _accomplish_ here?!”

“Dipper is a bright young man, with great potential!” Ford countered, “he deserves better than what small-minded dross passes for American public school curriculum!”

“That’s not the _POINT!”_ Stan yelled in his face, spraying spittle onto his glasses, “the _point_ is that ya don’t spring that sorta stuff on people without askin’ _everyone_ first! It don’t just affect you an’ Dipper, yanno! See, this is why I told ya to stay away from the kids! Well, _one_ reason! I asked _one_ thing o’ you, Stanford, an’ you didn’t even listen!”

“You never gave me a reason to listen to _you,_ Stanley! Not after every problem that could have been avoided if you had listened to _me!”_

“I can’t LISTEN to what’s _NOT THERE,_ Stanford!”

“Woah, woah, back up a minute, Mr. Pineses!” Soos - of all people - decided to cut in, holding up his hands. “What was that about kickin’ Mr. Pines out? _And_ closin’ down the Shack?!”

Ford tried to quiet him. “Zeus, please, this-”

“H-how can you kick out your own brother? He’s an old dude! He has dentures, and a hearing aid, and an orthopedic back pillow! I don’t even trust _mi Abuelita_ with online shopping, and you wanna throw him out on the streets?! A-and the Shack, I…” his voice started to crack in a way Mabel had heard far too many times, “...the Mystery Shack is my _life,_ dude! You can’t just take that away from us!”

“This is _my_ house, I can do whatever I want with it! This ‘Mystery Shack’ is nothing but a _mockery_ of my studies!” Ford blurted out.

For a short but agonizing moment, the room fell silent. Mabel could see tears running down Soos’ eyes.

“I… y… I-I gotta go hammer a nail repeatedly for no reason…” he said, dejectedly, pulling his cap over his eyes as he marched out the room. 

That wasn’t a side of Soos Mabel had seen in a while - it reminded her far too much of his disastrous birthday party earlier that summer. Going from Past Mabel’s look, she was thinking the same thing.

Mabel looked back at Ford - she was thankful he was a gross old man, not a gross _young_ man, because his wrinkles made it easier to track the way his face moved - and she’d become intimately familiar with her Grunkles’ facial expressions over the years. Yet despite this, she wasn’t sure what to make of his face right now - it was mostly blank, with maybe the briefest hint of regret before disappearing. Like he _thought_ maybe he’d been too harsh but dismissed it, probably rationalizing it away as ‘overly sentimental behaviour’.

The thought made a feeling of resentment well up inside Mabel, a feeling she thought she’d long since buried. As though she and her 12-year-old self were on the same wavelength, she remembered bearing a grudge against Ford - the ‘grumpy old nerd’ - for a very brief moment before Weirdmageddon began. She supposed that right now, that grudge must have been allowed to fester and grow, without the pressing matter of the apocalypse to nip it in the bud. She probably should have told her past self that Ford would turn out okay, but… he hadn’t that reality check. Not yet.

Besides, he’s not _her_ Ford. Not really. Maybe he would be later, but not now.

“Okay, listen, Grunkle Ford…” she finally said, sidestepping Stan, “I’ve been _trying_ to be patient with you, okay? Like, trying to stay neutral and all that junk. But you’re _not_ making it easy for me, because - real talk here - you’re _kiiiiiiiiinda_ actin’ like a jerk! Look, I _know_ you can be better than this, ‘cause I’ve seen it happen, but… c’mon, _seriously?_ Are you seriously not _over_ all of this?! You’re, like, fifty-bazillion years old! I mean, I’m not over a lotta stuff I should be, but I’m from the future and I’m _still_ half your age!”

Ford had been trying to get a word in edgeways the whole time she was talking, but only with this pause had he managed to step forward. “Listen, Mabel - if that’s who you really are - I have nothing to be ‘over’! It’s _Stanley_ who keeps insisting on making mountains out of molehills! I was just one man, not worth _global destruction_ to bring back!”

“Oh, gimme a break! If you’re so ‘over it’, why wouldya keep critical information from me an’ Grunkle Stan ‘cause you assumed we’d break that dumb rift? I read your journal, I know you thought I’d break it like any other snowglobe! An’ why wouldya tell a twelve-year-old boy, to his _face,_ that being a twin is ‘suffocating’ and his sister is holding him back?!”

She’d shot that little tidbit out without really thinking - and beneath her, she could hear a weak gasp out of her past self’s mouth.

“Wait, did… d-did Grunkle Ford really say that about me?”

Mabel immediately slapped her hands over her mouth.

She shouldn’t have said that. She should _not_ have said that.

“O-oh… I’m… I-I’m sorry, I thought I told you already…”

Her past self stepped forward, looking up at Ford. “Grunkle Ford, is this true? D-did you tell Dipper I was ‘suffocating’?!”

Ford swallowed hard. Mabel could now clearly see the way his wrinkles were going - panic. Clear regret, yes, but mostly panic. Eyes darting to each of them. Sweat droplets. Fidgeting with his fingers. Anything he could to distract himself. Stan was looking at him, stone-faced. Her past self’s face… all too familiar. The same look of betrayal she’d had when Dipper had told her of accepting his offer, but somehow even worse.

“W-well, I… m-maybe, but I didn’t… I-I didn’t mean it like… like…”

Her past self’s eyes began to water once more.

“Y...y-you hate me. I-I didn’t wanna believe it, but… you _hate_ me! _You actually HATE me!”_

“No, Mabel, I wasn’t-”

“No, you know what?! NO! THAT’S IT!” Past Mabel snapped, tearfully, her fists straight to her sides. “I NEVER WANNA TALK TO YOU _EVER AGAIN!”_

She swallowed, sniffling like crazy, and swivelled on her feet. “I’m going to bed! Only Waddles can cheer me up now…” she declared with a sense of finality, before bolting out the room, audibly stomping her way upstairs.

Stan looked his brother straight in the eyes; his hands were also clenched into fists, and they shook. His face bore an animalistic scowl, like at any moment he would pounce and rip Ford to shreds.

“Stanford… this ain’t over,” he growled. “If I wasn’t so old and tired, I _swear,_ I would…”

 _“Oooookayyyy,_ I think that’s enough for tonight…” Mabel said, placing her tattooed arm across Stan’s chest. She knew it wouldn’t deter him if he seriously wanted to break Ford’s nose - and if she was honest with herself, she’d hardly blame him right now - but she knew that brawling like children wasn’t going to accomplish anything. She had to communicate that to them.

...Darn, when did she suddenly turn into a mom? She’s only 22!

“Ugh, fine…” Stan relented, loosening up a bit. Grabbing his fez from the table and placing it on his head, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m goin’ta my room to browse spoilers fer my car. Retail therapy.”

“Hey, check RacersInBackwardsCaps-dot-com! S’where the Mabel-Mobile got its luscious lashes!” Mabel called after him as he left, in a futile attempt to lighten the mood. She even winked and poked herself in the cheek like some anime character, probably expecting a star to spontaneously appear in the air next to her.

The mood remained thoroughly un-lightened.

She sighed and turned to face Ford, clearly shaken, whose gaze was still fixated on where Stan had just been. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, Grunkle Ford… I wasn’t lying earlier; I _know_ you can be better. That’s a one-hundred-percent-pure Mabel-brand truth!”

“I… Mabel, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you suffocating, I was-”

“Projecting? Yeah, I know. It’s not _me_ ya need to apologize to, but I’ll ignore that for now. Look, I know why you’re mad at Grunkle Stan, I-I mean, _I’d_ be pretty miffed if I came back from being pushed into another dimension to bein’ forced to live in my basement while some gross, icky clone pretended to be me an’ got me banned from international flights an’... well, you get the idea! But… just… j-just go easy on ‘im, ‘kay? He literally risked the _universe_ for you.”

“You say that like it’s a _good_ thing…” Ford said in a tone she couldn’t decode, before wandering off. 

Mabel hadn’t been sure what to say, and she wasn’t sure if what she’d said… worked? What had she even been trying to accomplish? She already knew she couldn’t get them to make up with a few kind words and a hug. But Ford seemed like he regretted what he said. Heck, even that last statement didn’t sound entirely genuine. _Maybe_ they were making progress?

She noticed she was now alone in the kitchen - well, except for drunk Blendin passed out in the corner.

Ugh, who was she kidding? She only made things worse - like always - by mentioning what Ford had said to Dipper. How had she even known that? Dipper wouldn’t have told her, he’d have known it would just hurt her feelings for no reason. 

...Ford had told her. The new Ford, the one who didn’t keep secrets (or at least, not as many), to pre-emptively apologize for something she never even knew he’d said. She’d been upset, sure, but at the time it had faded quickly because she knew Ford wasn’t like that anymore. Her kid self in this new timeline didn’t have the same luxury.

She considered going upstairs to comfort her younger self, but decided against it - she’d restored her happiness once that day and it had taken at least an hour _,_ and she’s pretty sure it would have been impossible if it weren’t for the whole ‘hi, I’m you from the future, ask me anything!’ deal she had going. Now the novelty of _that_ was gone and her happiness had been shattered _again._ Maybe it’s best to just let her sleep this one off and revisit it in the morning. Besides, now she was getting pretty tired, too.

Mabel headed for the fridge, intent on getting something to drink. Pitt? Eh, not sweet enough, and besides, she kinda wanted something boozy right now. Root™ Beer? Ew, _no._ She only drinks cocktails. Sure, it was stereotypical, and a bit weird since she’d never exactly been ‘ladylike’, but she still had _some_ standards!

Then she noticed a whole pitcher of Mabel-Juice (or Mabel-Juice Classic as she called it now) on the top shelf. She hadn’t remembered _that_ being in the fridge when she’d returned to the Shack for the first time during Weirdmageddon… actually, maybe Chutzpar drank it all. He _did_ have a sweet tooth, as it turned out.

Removing it from the fridge, she reached up to the box on top of the fridge, the one she and Dipper couldn’t get to when they were kids - she assumed that if Stan had any hard liquor, this is where he’d keep it. Sure enough, she found a bottle of vodka - didn’t recognize the brand, but it was clear and it had faux-cyrillic writing on it, which was good enough for her.

She poured out three glasses of Mabel-Juice, setting one aside for her, before taking one and walking over to Blendin’s unconscious form in the corner.

She poked him in the cheek - “Boop! Wakey-wakey, time’s all snakey!”

He immediately stirred, one eye opening.

“Eh… wh-wha, ow, go away, Cortez…”

“Drink this,” she said as she put his glass down on the table, probably sounding more commanding than she would have wanted, “it’ll… well, it probably won’t do anything, but it’s delicious an’ everyone should drink it. It’s like if coffee and nightmares had a baby!” she declared, as if that was a positive. Which it _is._ Just because nightmares are bad, doesn’t mean its kid has to be!

With Blendin taken care of, she took the bottle of vodka and poured a shot’s worth into one of the other glasses, and took that in her right hand, making a mental note that it was ‘in Timbuk-tattoo’ so she wouldn’t get them mixed up. 

Vitally important, because now she was heading for Soos, and she knew for a fact he didn’t drink. His Abuelita would never allow it. Even after she’s long gone, she’d probably come back to haunt him if he ever so much as _touched_ a beer. The fact his lousy dad used to send him Root™-branded postcards certainly discouraged him further.

She assumed he’d headed outside - and as she got close to the front door, she could a faint pitter-patter outside, that steadily transitioned into a louder clattering. It soon became apparent that it was raining outside; between the curtains in the kitchen being closed and that massive argument consuming her attention, she hadn’t noticed.

Nonetheless, she found Soos sitting on the old couch on the front porch, protected from the rain by the roof above. He was slouched over, facing away from the door, and going by his reddened face he’d been crying enough to rival the weather. They were blasted by the cool air of late summer rainfall, which helped Mabel relax a bit.

“Hi, Soos… I, um… got you a drink,” she said, offering the left glass of Mabel-Juice to him. She lightly shook it, rattling its contents around. “It’s got plastic _dinoooos!”_

“Thanks, May-May… I-I mean, Mabel…” he said, taking the glass, not turning to look at her.

Mabel sat down next to him and leaned back, crossing her legs, and took a sip of her own concoction. “It’s okay, you can keep calling me May-May if ya want.”

Soos silently nodded, and then downed his entire glass in one go, dramatically throwing back his head and gulping it down loudly, the plastic triceratops loudly clanging all over the place as he did so. It was a wonder he didn’t swallow it by accident.

As Mabel watched, she was now especially glad he didn’t drink alcohol - this was probably his equivalent of downing a shot in distress. 

She shrugged and decided she’d join him, out of empathy. She threw her own head back and mimicked his long gulps. The taste of her drink was familiar to her - sharp, sweet, with a bitter aftertaste.

“I…” he began to say, wiping his arm against his eyes, “I don’t want the Shack to close… I never even got to be Mr. Mystery, dude…”

Mabel swallowed, considering her options, before gently placing a hand on his back. “It’s okay, Soos, I know… everything will be fine…” 

She wanted to tell him how that’s exactly what he’d become in her timeline, but she knew that’d just upset him even more, to hear of a better future that he’s not going to have. ...A ‘better future’ where the _apocalypse_ happened. She felt dirty having even _conceived_ that sentence.

“I-I mean… look on the bright side, at least there’s no apocalypse!”

“Y-yeah, I guess this is like, _objectively_ better than the end of the world,” Soos said, with a rare tinge of bitterness in his voice. Even _he_ could tell that ‘better than the apocalypse’ is an absurdly low bar to clear.

Mabel sighed, leaning forward. She hated all these gross feelings running through her mind now, getting her to doubt whether or not she’d done the right thing. Of _course_ she did, there’s no question about that. _Any_ outcome, no matter how crappy it seems, is better than an entire town getting traumatized and almost killed by a triangle demon.

 _Cut it out, Mabel,_ she tried to tell herself. _You’re being stupid and selfish again. Cut it out. CUT IT OUT._

She really wishes Dipper was here right now. Her Dipper or this timeline’s Dipper, it didn’t matter. He’d knock some sense into her one way or another, back her up with logic - no Weirdmageddon is _better._

_It is better! Mabel, NO! Bad Mabel! Stop doubting yourself! It is BETTER! Not perfect, but BETTER!_

Then something occurred to her, something else she’d completely failed to notice amidst her tumultuous return.

“Hey, have you seen Dip-Dop?” she asked, “I haven’t seen him once since I got back in time. ...Not at ground level, anyway.”

“I dunno, dude… last I saw him, he was gettin’ on a bus into town, lookin’ for… well, _you,_ actually. Little you, I mean. ...I think he said he was gonna call Wendy. I’ve been tryin’ to call Wendy all day, but she’s not been answerin’. Battery’s prob’ly dead or somethin’.”

Mabel raised a brow. “I thought Dipper didn’t have a phone. A-at this time.”

“Oh no, he borrowed little you’s phone. ...Huh, that gives me an idea. ‘Ding’-y lightbulb moment, dude.”

Soos promptly took out his own phone and attempted to call Past Mabel’s number. Mabel looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of her kid self’s cheery profile picture - she was grinning, and had Waddles next to her. 

...Oh yeah, she hadn’t checked up on Waddles, either. He was much smaller back in 2012 - his adorable self was much more portable. He was still adorable in her time, but much harder to take anywhere. Like a temple of cuteness, people flocked to _him._

Unfortunately, the call went straight to voicemail. _'Heyoooo! You've reached the number of Mabel Louise Pines! She can't reach the phone right now 'cause she's on important HAPPINESS BEEZ-NESS, but feel free to leave a message with her secretary, Waddles the Chief Pork-secutive! Kaythanksbyeee!'_

"I remember that message! Heh, 'pork-secutive!'" the older Mabel reflected. "...Ya think I should go look for Dipper?"

"I dunno, ya might spook 'im out..."

"Fair point. Maybe I should ask Grunkle Stan."

She got out of her seat. Though she knew this probably deserved immediate attention - especially if it concerned Dipper - for a few more moments, she found herself frozen, mesmerized by the sight of the rain trickling down through the dark woods. She was especially drawn to the pin-drops scattered all over the roof of the Mabel-Mobile. She always found those cute little mini-splashes kinda therapeutic to watch.

“Oh, by the way, May-May… I-I like your van. It’s pretty cool.”

“The Mabel-Mobile? Thanks! My pride an’ joy. ...Yanno, I learned how to fix it up from Future You. It would never have made it outta Russia if it weren’t for your wise counsel.”

“Russia?”

“Long story. ...I'll let ya drive it tomorrow, if ya'd like. While I, uh, go get your truck back. Uh, sorry I left it out there."

She leaned up against the door. For a few more sweet, silent moments, with only the clattering of the rain in the background, they loitered around, thinking of nothing in particular.

“May-May… i-is everythin’ gonna turn out okay? For us, I mean? You’re from the future, so you’d know, right?”

“I… y-yeah, I’m sure it’ll be okay. To an extent. ...More okay. ...Definitely an _improvement._ ...I hope. _”_

_Mabel. You’re doing it again. Stop._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: I'm a teetotaller, so I apologize for any inaccuracies in my portrayal of drunkenness.
> 
> Also, I had planned on Mabel making the Mabel-Juice first, but I don't remember what the recipe is - I know someone wrote a recipe once, even if it's not actually canon. Besides, the chapter was long enough as it is. :V
> 
> Also also, since I couldn't find a place to establish this in the story, yes, Ford has already sealed up the rift. He didn't mention that because he was still trying to keep it a secret.
> 
> Also also also, since it's raining at the end of the chapter, that means the two Mabels' storyline has finally caught up with Dipper's, since he fell asleep on the bus and when he woke up it was raining. I might have confused myself so this is to clear it up for me. :V


	7. Feeling Awful Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two generations of Mabel just can't catch a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet more angst incoming. I think the next couple chapters are gonna be pretty angsty (with moments of light relief scattered about), just to warn you if you're not into that. This chapter was going to be Dipper-centric, but I was a bit stuck on how to start it, so I wrote this first instead. We'll get back to Dipper next time.
> 
> Also, just to recap for anyone who's already read the previous chapters - I rewrote Chapter 4 a bit. It's mostly the same, except I removed that whole thing with the aliens searching Dipper's bus - now he just fell asleep on the way into town and Wendy came to pick him up. I had this whole side-plot planned around these aliens getting involved, but I got rid of it after deciding it didn't really add anything to the story and just made things needlessly complicated.
> 
> Oh, and one more thing - this chapter contains references to childhood bullying, and one brief mention of menstruation. Glad I changed the rating to T now. :V

Mabel couldn’t get any sleep. Not in this state.

It had been only ten minutes or so since she’d stormed upstairs. She hadn’t even bothered to brush her teeth or change into her pyjamas. She just took her sweater off and threw herself under the covers. She’d noticed Dipper still wasn’t there, which was almost a blessing in disguise - after what had been said downstairs, she knew she’d probably say something horrible to him if he was. It’d be their earlier argument all over again.

She tried every trick in the book to make herself go to sleep - covering herself completely, sandwiching her head between her pillows, surrounding herself with her stuffed animals, even tried the old meowing trick. Nothing worked. She just tossed and turned, unable to get that one word out of her mind.

 _Suffocating._ She was _suffocating._ Maybe if she covered herself enough, she’d suffocate for real. Sounded like no-one would miss her, at this rate. She thought she was _over_ this, she thought that meeting her future self and chatting with her had restored her confidence, when the truth was, it had just repressed all of her horrible feelings; and hearing what Grunkle Ford had said about her made them erupt like a volcano.

But really, when she thought about it, her future self hadn’t said much to suggest she shouldn’t feel horrible right now; if anything, she gave her a stamp of approval to feel horrible. She could have spent all night telling her stories about all the cool stuff she’s been doing, but she couldn’t tell her she shouldn’t be afraid of growing up; she _admitted_ she couldn’t because she’d be lying to her. How else was she supposed to feel about that? _‘Oh cool, I still feel horrible but at least now I know it’s totally justified!’_

She still couldn’t believe it. Grunkle Ford hates her. Thinks she’s stupid. Nothing but a burden holding her brother back. Just like how he treated Grunkle Stan. Stan protects him all the way through high school, but the moment he’s no longer needed, he’s discarded like so much trash. And Ford expects Dipper to do the same to her; and Dipper… didn’t even stand up for her? Didn’t call him out, didn’t do anything? He _agreed?_

No… no, he couldn’t. He’s not like that. ...But really, would he even be _wrong_ if he had agreed? Dipper is too good for her. He’s always sacrificed for her. He always got straight As in school. He knows what he wants to do with his life. He can’t wait to grow up. Meanwhile, Mabel barely coasts by on Bs and Cs; the only things she’s good at are Art and English. Everyone tells her she’s doing great, but she knows they’re just saying that so she doesn’t get upset, because she’s a big dumb crybaby who has to dump her problems on other people. You only need to ask all those girls at school who she _thought_ were her friends to know that.

_‘O-M-G, do you still believe in unicorns? What are you, five?’_

_‘No-one cares if you make your own sweaters, you look like a dork. No-one wants to date a dork.’_

_‘Cartoons are for babies. Why don’t you watch reality TV like everyone else?’_

_‘Ewww, you like pigs? Gross! No wonder you can’t get a boyfriend!’_

_‘Ugh, it’s widdle cutey-wutey baby Mabel. Let’s get out of here before she throws glitter in our faces and lectures us about cooties or whatever.’_

_‘God, you are SO dumb. I almost feel sorry for your dork brother, if YOU’RE the closest thing he has to a friend.’_

The one thing she could offer Dipper was an ‘in’ with others, a way to avoid being completely socially disconnected; and yes, she did try and stand up for him when other girls made fun of him behind his back, whenever they called him a ‘sweaty loser’ who’s ‘gonna die a virgin’, like that even _matters._ She shouldn’t even _know_ what a ‘virgin’ is, she’s still a kid! 

But everyone else wanted to throw their childhoods away, and grow up into gross, zit-covered, shallow, grumpy teenagers who do nothing but gossip about fashion and jerks on reality TV and obsess over ‘making out’ with boys they don’t even like. ...Maybe _that’s_ why she was so desperate to have an ‘Epic Summer Romance’, she wanted something to show her old ‘friends’, tell them ‘look, I can make out with boys, too! Can we sit together at lunch again now?’

But no, now she’s lost that. They’re gonna get stupid. Dipper’s not going to get down on her level anymore. He’s going to throw her away.

She tried to wrap her pillow around her head and scream into it. If she wasn’t trying to be less selfish, she’d almost _wish_ the apocalypse happened just like her future self told her it would; at least then her brother wouldn’t just throw her away, like their childhood never mattered; but judging from what little her future self had said about him in the ten years to come, they’d probably get stupid _anyway._ The apocalypse just delayed it.

Because she’s a bad person. A horrible, horrible monster who can’t do anything right. She can only suffocate people. Grunkle Ford is a smart guy; if he said it, it _has_ to be true.

Finally, she threw the covers off. Somehow, she wasn’t crying now. Maybe she’d finally run out of tears, or maybe she’d just become resigned to the hell that her life is going to be now. But she couldn’t sleep.

She glanced over at the floor next to her bed; Waddles was there, sleeping peacefully, looking adorable as ever; he had been on the bed with her, but he’d gotten off when she started thrashing around. Sometimes she envied him, and animals in general; sure, they have to deal with predators and stuff, but they never have to ‘grow up’ like humans do. They can be adorable and roll around in the grass for their whole lives!

“Ugh… I wish I was a pig…” she couldn’t help but muse. She was glad she was inside the anti-Bill shield right now; no doubt that isosceles jerk would come in and offer to actually turn her into one.

She got out of bed, putting her shoes back on. She knew she’s not supposed to be up this late - whatever the time even was, she hadn’t checked - but she needed to talk with her future self again. There were still questions she had to ask, and she did _not_ have the patience to wait until morning to have them answered. If her parents were here to complain about her not getting enough sleep, they’d just have to deal with it.

Almost immediately after she left her and Dipper’s room, she could hear voices echoing down the hall. She recognized them immediately - Grunkle Stan and Future Mabel.

“So, I dunno where Dipper is… ya think I should go look for ‘im?”

“Eh… I’m sure he’s fine. Pretty sure Corduroy taught ‘im how to pitch a tent. ...It’s late, pumpkin.”

Mabel instinctively began to tip-toe along the floorboards - she’d snuck around enough this summer to know how to minimize the amount of creaking. She stopped for a moment to question why she was trying to be sneaky. It’s not like she _wanted_ to be inconspicuous right now. ...Maybe it’s just better if she doesn’t make a scene. Yeah, that’s probably it.

“You ‘ave a place to sleep, right?” Stan asked.

“Um… I have a van. You have a spare mattress? I think I can squeeze one in there.”

“Why not just sleep in Dipper’s bed?”

“I, uh… I-I don’t wanna… Past Me needs some alone time right now. I thought I could cheer her up, but I can’t. All I did was tell her she’s right to be afraid of growin’ up; I don’t _get_ to act surprised that she stormed off the moment she was reminded.”

By now, Mabel had crept up to the door to Stan’s room, where the voices were coming from. She put her back to the wall and listened closely.

“Yeah, well… I prob’ly can’t help ya with that. I’m a man who grew up in the fifties-sixties. Back then we just sucked it up. Ya even _talked_ about yer emotions, yer pa would call you a sissy an’ slap you across the face. I ain’t equipped to deal with emotions.”

“Yeah, I understand…”

They both paused.

“So, uh… how’s bein’ a grown-up workin’ out for ya, Mabel? I feel I shoulda asked this earlier, but then Poindexter had to come in an’ put a stop to that.”

“Eh, it’s… mixed, I guess. It was kinda gross at first. Yanno, all these body changes. Stinky odours. I have to buy special sports bras ‘cause these stupid boobs wouldn’t stop slappin’ all over the place. An’ don’t even get me started on periods. Blegh. But, yanno. Ya get used to it. People used to make fun o’ me ‘cause I’m a big gal, but to heck with ‘em. They don’t know me! Besides, I’m like a walkin’ pillow that can flip cars over! I could prob’ly wrestle a Manotaur an’ win! What do I care about winnin’ some beauty contest? Not that I ain’t beautiful in my _own_ way, o’ course! I am _plenty_ beautiful!”

“Hah! Yep, that’s my Mabel, alright. You haven’t changed one bit! ‘Course, ya take after me. ‘Least in the body department. ...Hopefully not in the ‘everythin’ else’ department.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that! We love you! For your huggability, an’ your charm, an’ your wise insight into topics as diverse as business, brawlin’, gamblin’, sweet-talkin’, et cetera, et cetera!”

“I’m ‘huggable’? Pumpkin, ya do know you almost crippled me earlier, right?”

“Psh, that’s what they _all_ say!”

“I’m sure they do…” Stan said, in a way that Mabel couldn’t decide was sarcastic or not. She had difficulty understanding sarcasm at the best of times.

She could hear him taking a gulp of something - hopefully not that icky booze everyone was drinking earlier. Why would you _want_ that? Sugar is far better; you lose control, sure, but in a fast, zippy energetic way! Not a slow, ‘bluuuuuh’ way.

“...So, uh… whaddya doin’ fer a livin’ nowadays?” Stan asked.

More silence, as Future Mabel could be clearly heard shuffling around on the shag carpet.

“I, uh… heh, i-it’s nothin’ too excitin’... I actually live here. At the Shack. It’s kinda _my_ house. W-well, not exactly. Grunkle Ford still owns the deed.”

“...Huh. But he don’t live ‘ere?”

“Nah. It’s still the Mystery Shack, actually. I’m kinda, like, the custodian. I also sell arts an’ crafts stuff online. Knittin’ work, badges, plush toys, that sorta thing. I actually made a plush version of myself once! Then I made her into a ‘Goodoo Doll’, which is like a Voodoo Doll, ‘cept instead of stabbin’ pins into it, ya just tickle it or cuddle it! Then you can hug someone no matter where they are! ...Don’t think it works across time, though.”

“Aww…” Mabel couldn’t help but say under her breath, clasping her hands close to her chest. She’d _love_ the ability to hug people from across the country, or even the world! ...Maybe she could hug _herself_ that way. _Woah._ Get a good feel for how it’s like to be on the receiving end of a Mabel-Hug. It was a brief light thought in the midst of all this misery.

“So, the Shack’s still a thing, huh? S’what happened to Sixer, then? ...Did he _die?”_ Stan asked, in a tone harsh enough to almost make Mabel’s heart drop. 

She couldn’t tell if he was concerned or not… her heart hoped he was, but in the darkest recesses of her gut, where sugar feared to tread and only molasses and Yeastemite could go, she felt like he would have been _happy._

Right now, even if she kinda-sorta hated that grumpy old nerd for calling her ‘suffocating’, and taking it for granted that she’d be fine with her brother being ripped away from her without so much as a second’s notice, and throwing away his own brother without even thanking him for all that he’d done… she wouldn’t want him _dead._ She wouldn’t wish that on anyone. ...At least, she hopes so.

“Um…” her future self finally spoke up, “n-no, he didn’t die, he’s just… busy.”

Stan took a long, deep sigh, and a long, deep gulp of whatever drink he had.

“Yanno what, Big Mabel? I dunno why I bothered. He’da been happier if I had just left him to rot. You were wrong to trust me, you shoulda listened to yer brother.”

“What, and pushed the button?!” her future self asked, sounding hurt.

“Yeah. Yeah, ya shoulda pushed the button.”

Future Mabel gasped, apparently in shock.

“Grunkle Stan, y… l-look, I know y… h-he’s trying, you know that, right? He’s trying to be better. He’s just a bit… yanno…”

“Nah, I don’t think I _do_ know,” Stan said, sounding firmer than a pile of bricks. “Yanno when he said bein’ a twin is ‘suffocatin’, he weren’t talkin’ about you. He was talkin’ about _me._ That’s what I am to him, a liability.”

“C’mon, he’s just… he’s been through a lot. Maybe you two just need to talk.”

“There’s no point, he wouldn’t listen to me!” Stan snapped, the squeal of his chair against the floorboards being heard. “I been through a lot, too, but he didn’t care. ...Yanno, he had a chance! After we cleared out those agents that night he came back, we both went upstairs an’ just stared into the mirror. Admired what a pair of old geezers we’d become. It seemed… _nice,_ like we’d actually gotten somewhere. He actually said I looked like dad. ...I shoulda taken that as a warnin’ sign, ‘cause seconds later Ford was pullin’ the exact same stunt he did! ‘Yer not ‘worthy’ to be in this household, Stanley, you ignoramus!’”

Mabel could hear him take more gulps, finally slamming his bottle down on his desk. “That’s how it is with him, nothin’ but fresh stabs to the back, over an’ over! Well, I’m done. Ford wants to kick me out, fine. Let ‘im. I’ll never be anythin’ but the dirt on his shoe. I’ve accepted that.”

Mabel tensed up; she could feel her face getting hot at how _broken_ her Grunkle sounded. She knew she should listen to her future self - she was sounding far more like Mabel than Mabel herself right now - but… but… maybe Stan was right. Maybe she _should_ have pushed that button.

It seemed that even her future self’s optimism wavered, as she clearly couldn’t think of an answer. She just kept shuffling against the carpet.

“...Go get some sleep, pumpkin,” Stan finally said as he audibly fell back into his seat, sounding more like an order than a suggestion.

“Y-yeah, I will… g’night, Grunkle Stan…”

By now, Mabel didn’t even care that she was about to be discovered - and discovered she was, as her future self walked into the hallway, and froze up, seeing her younger self standing there.

They didn’t say anything, but their matching expressions communicated enough to each other - they both felt _horrible,_ and they were the only ones who could understand why. They can’t do anything right.

“Um…” the younger Mabel was the first to speak, “i-if you wanna sleep upstairs, you can. I won’t mind.”

Future Mabel wordlessly nodded as she followed her upstairs.

Ten minutes later, Mabel was once again lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, with Waddles on the floor beside her, and now joined by her future self spread out on Dipper’s bed. Like her, she hadn’t bothered to get changed, she just took her boots off and collapsed onto the mattress with a loud squeak. She’d fallen asleep in minutes. She almost looked like a huge teddy bear. ...Turned out she was a heavy snorer, too.

She’d wanted to ask her questions, but after hearing her try and fail to mend the enormous gulf between their Grunkles, there was an unspoken understanding that neither of them were really in any position to be comforting anyone right now. Mabel still felt awful, and so did the other Mabel. At least they felt awful together, they supposed.

She did ask _one_ question before she fell asleep, though.

“Future Me… why didn’t you tell him they made up? That they went sailing together, just like Stan always wanted?”

“I couldn’t. I don’t want him to think the apocalypse _should_ have happened. I don’t want _anyone_ to think that. _Nothing_ is worth the end of the world.”

“Not even Dipper?”

That question remained unanswered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably point out - I grew up a guy and I still present as male nowadays (I could go on about my gender identity, but you didn't come here to listen to me ramble about that :V), so my understanding of how girls face bullying at school may be off.


	8. Your Best Fwendy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wendy has a confession to make.

The truck ride through the woods had been quiet. They’d been driving past endless rows of forests for nearly twenty minutes now. Dipper was sure it was forests, anyway - he could barely see ten feet in front of him outside, between the time, the cloud cover and the rain droplets clattering against the windows. The rain and the hum of the engine was a constant ambient soundtrack, highlighting how… _off_ this all felt.

Dipper fidgeted in his seat, looking back at Wendy - who herself had been unusually quiet. The only peep he’d gotten out of her was shortly after she’d ranted to him about Mabel - she had with her a cup of coffee, one of several she’d had judging by the litter at her feet. He’d think she wasn’t old enough for coffee yet, but considering she was driving a truck without a license, drinking coffee was small potatoes. What _was_ worrying was the heat he could see rising from the top.

“Wendy, is that… oh my _God,_ that coffee is _piping hot!_ You’re gonna scald the inside of your mouth!” he’d said, as the teenager just shrugged and took a long gulp.

“Don’t wowwy, man,” she’d responded, not caring that she couldn’t pronounce the letters ‘R’ or ‘L’ now, “is aww good! Stay awake now, buwn tweatment watew!”

Even now, twenty minutes later, he couldn’t get that out of his head. He was pretty sure she’d grinned at him after that, like she was proud, but it had faded quickly. He knew teenagers sometimes did stupid, sometimes death-defying things to prove how ‘cool’ they are - he had first-hand experience with this phenomenon back at the Dusk-2-Dawn, after all - but this was something else…

On top of all that, he noticed that the ride into town was taking much longer than it should. Maybe it was because of the weather, or because Wendy wasn’t used to driving, but he was pretty sure it didn’t take this long to drive into town from the Mystery Shack.

“Um… Wendy, you do know where we’re going, right?” he finally asked, knowing that Wendy was chill enough that she could accept such a question. Probably brush it off with a snarky-

 _“YES!_ Uh, I-I mean… yeah, ‘course. ‘Course I do. Silly,” she said.

Dipper had been startled by her sudden rise in volume; he’d almost jumped out of his skin.

“W-Wendy… are you okay? You’re acting a little strange…”

Wendy sighed, rubbing her forehead.

“Ugh… s-sorry about that, Dipperoodles. I just… stress. Yanno how it is, high school an’ all. Dad’s bein’ kind of an ass. Gettin’ on my case about missin’ work. Never mind that it’s ‘cause that stupid Shack keeps gettin’ wrecked by monsters or whatever. Dunno why they keep goin’ to _that_ tourist trap, an’ not, like… literally _anywhere_ else… I-I mean, if I was some monster, there’s a million other places I’d wanna attack first, like Area 51, Capitol Hill, that ugly corroded statue outside New York City... ”

As Wendy spoke about her various frustrations, Dipper couldn’t help but catch something else in the corner of his eye. 

On the side of the road ahead, he could have sworn he saw someone walking. It was only a brief glimpse - someone… purple… and… _blonde?_ A purple person with blonde hair? Or purple clothes… and they had something on their back…

“...Pacifica?” he muttered under his breath. He shook his head - nah, it can’t be Pacifica. That’s stupid. No way she’d tolerate walking alone through a rainy forest in the middle of the night. ...Right? ...Maybe they should go back and check.

“-Dipper? Dipper, dude, are you even listenin’?” Dipper heard as he felt Wendy poking him hard in the shoulder.

“Ow! Wendy, stop that! I-I just… I thought I saw someone… n-not Mabel, someone else…”

“Uh-huh… well, anyways, we’re almost there.”

Dipper looked back at her, feeling that familiar eyebrow raising yet again. They were still in very forested surroundings, clearly nowhere near ‘almost there’. 

“Almost where?”

“The sawmill. Yanno, where we’re goin’?”

Dipper blinked.

“Wendy, we… we were going into _town,_ remember? To the hospital?”

“Dude, c’mon, I thought we went over this. Dr. Stitch-hearts… uh, Robbie… he texted me while you were asleep, he saw your sister get driven to the sawmill. Yanno, the one my dad works at?”

Dipper’s face contorted into some grotesque mixture of confusion and outrage. He could feel his face going hot.

“I… j… Wendy, you never told me that!”

“I did!”

“When?!”

“When you got in the truck! _Obviously_ you weren’t listening…” a now-irate Wendy said, seething.

“What?!” Dipper snapped, “no, I wasn’t- I-I mean, I was- I didn’t… ugh… gimme a second…”

Dipper slumped into his seat, his eyes slammed shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was far too much to deal with right now, even for him. He had no idea where Mabel was, apparently she was at a _sawmill_ for some reason, which he hadn’t been told until _literally_ the very last second, and he still had no clue who his ‘Auntie’ was who’d supposedly taken her, and Wendy was acting all weird all of a sudden, and… and…

He took a deep breath. _Okay._ One problem at a time…

He looked back at Wendy, who was now obviously glaring at him - even with her sunglasses on, it was clear, she was in… bad spirits.

“Wendy, is…” he began, trying his best to sound sympathetic. If he was honest with himself, it wouldn’t come naturally to him, not after what she’d said about Mabel a few minutes ago, and now she was springing surprise visits to sawmills on him and… he was pretty sure he was listening! This is an emergency, why _wouldn’t_ he be listening?

It took him far too long to get his words out, as evidently Wendy got fed up; he felt the truck lurch beneath him as she put on the brakes, pulling over at the side of the road.

“Yeah, is _what?”_ she asked. 

The venomous way she said that reminded Dipper of the Shape-Shifter, when it had taken her form… the one that he’d declared _love_ to, he remembered, and why he chose _now,_ of all times, to remember that, he had no idea.

Dipper shook that memory off. “Wendy, is everything… okay? Y-you’ve been acting all weird ever since you got me from the bus. I’m kinda worried about you.”

_In more ways than one,_ he mentally added.

Wendy seemed to let go of her anger; instead, she sighed and slumped over the steering wheel. She stayed there, motionless, for a whole minute. Her breath became… uneasy. Random. Like she was crying, but with no tears.

Dipper couldn’t look away. It reminded him of when she’d broken up with Robbie, and he, like an idiot, asked her to hang out immediately afterwards. Sometimes he thought it had been a miracle that she didn’t hate him after that. It had been a relief when she came back to work and rationalized Dipper’s tactlessness as just him wanting to cheer her up - which he went with. Even after she’d found out about his crush on her, she didn’t hold that against him. 

For a moment, the memory made Dipper smile - she’s a good friend. First real friend he’s had outside the family. ...He’s gonna miss her, when they have to go back. Even if she and Mabel have some unresolved issues.

But now… thinking of _that_ snapped him back to reality. Wendy wasn’t the same as she’d been after the Robbie breakup. That had been a harsh, brutal affair. If she was _truly_ angry at him, she’d let it show.

“I just…” she finally spoke up, “th-there’s something else I wanted to get off my chest before summer’s over, a-and… I hadn’t really thought about it, until I had to go hunt you down at, like, stupid o’ clock at night. You coulda been dead, for all I know. ...I was thinking about what happened after the bunker. Yanno, your, uh…”

“I… I-I know…” Dipper said, gulping.

Another pause.

“H-how do I put it, like… Dipper, do you know where the name ‘Wendy’ comes from?”

Dipper didn’t answer. He couldn’t even _begin_ to try answering that question. He was too taken off-guard by how much of a non-sequitur it seemed right now.

“She was a character from _Peter Pan,”_ she said, rising from the steering wheel. “Came from ‘Fwendy’, a nickname some kid called the dude who wrote it. You know about _Peter Pan,_ right?”

“Um…” Dipper paused. He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, but… she is Wendy, there’s probably going to be a point. He hopes. “Y-yeah, of course I do. It’s about a boy who never wants to grow up.”

“Exactly,” she said, with a point, “earlier today, when I was waitin’ to sign up back for hell school, your sister found me. Asked me what it was like. I was honest with her, told her like it is. Teen horror movie. ‘Course, she got scared. I told her I’d give anythin’ to be twelve again. An’ that got me thinkin’ about you… you’re like, in the perfect zone. You’re totally smarter than, like, everyone else in this whole town and you’re not even a teenager yet. Hell, I’d worry goin’ through puberty would take that away from ya. ...If we were the same age, you’d be, like, my dream crush.”

Dipper felt sweat dripping down the side of his face. He could see in the reflection in her sunglasses, his face was going red.

_Is this… really happening?_ He thought to himself. _I-I never… not in a million years..._

He tried to clench his eyes shut, forcing himself to look away.

_No, this… this can’t be happening. We were over this. She said so. That was final. I’m over this. I can’t go back to this, not now!_

“Heh, don’t think I can’t see you blushing, man. It’s fine, it’s nothin’ to be ashamed of…” Wendy continued. “But seriously, like… you’re a smart kid, but you’re still a kid. You’re free, you’re kinda cute, in a dorky way… kinda remind me of me when I was your age. Back when I was still in braces mode. ...Man, it’d be perfect, wouldn’t it? If I could be twelve, an’ you could stay here, an’ we’d never grow up, we could just go on endless adventures, watch dumb movies, and… be happy together, forever. Just like Peter Pan and… whatever his girlfriend was called. Patricia?”

Dipper clutched his head, trying to massage his temples. This didn’t make any sense. If she had been saying this to him before the bunker, this would be it. He’d be so happy. Finally, all his work had paid off, finally she’d admit she felt the same way all along and had just been too caught up in teenage angst to admit it! 

But… _now…_ it felt _wrong._ Deeply wrong. Like she was toying with him. He’d understood where she had come from after that conversation on the log, and he’d come around to her way of thinking - she _always_ cared about him, as a friend, and that was reward enough for all his efforts. Not only that, but all summer long he’d thought Wendy was bringing out the real Dipper, the one who’d been hiding, quivering, inside the skin of an anxious noodly-armed geek for years - and she had - but it turned out he helped her, too! It wasn’t a one-way thing, they had needed each other, not as lovers but like… like brother and sister.

So to take all of that back and go right back to square one… was _he_ going to have to be the one to turn _her_ down now? ...Ugh, ‘turn down’, that’s the wrong way to think of it...

“L-look, Wendy, I-I… I don’t… wh-what are you trying to say?”

“I dunno, man…” she said, slumping into her chair. “I just… I wish we could do it. ...I bet there’s some Weird thing in one of your Great-Uncle’s journals that can do that. Like a… fountain of youth or something…”

Suddenly she perked up, and she started grinning at him again, like she had when she’d burned herself on the coffee.

The sight unnerved Dipper, for just a moment. He cast his gaze to the side… and then he noticed something that he’d overlooked before.

Wendy’s axe was resting against her legs, and it looked… dull. Like it had been recently used. There were fresh scratches, sawdust, splinters. In one of the cupholders, the one that didn’t have a cup of piping hot coffee in it (did Soos have a coffee maker in his truck or something? Where’d she even get that?), there was a rag of some kind. Had a damp stain on it. If he sniffed the air around it, there was something medicinal about it...

He remembered the bus - it had been blocked by a tree. Never did find out how it had fallen down. Never saw the bus driver again, either. You’d think he’d come back to check on the sleeping 12-year-old at some point in those… three or four hours, but no…

“Yanno what?” Wendy spoke up again, having been deep in thought, herself. “...I-I kinda wanna do it. Like, for real.”

“Y-you… you wanna do what?”

“Find a fountain of youth, or whatever. So we can be the same age, and we never have to grow up. ...Admit it, it’d be awesome. Hell, you can even bring your sister along for the ride, if you want. Your Grunkles, parents, anyone. I know for a fact Mabel doesn’t wanna grow up, at least. ...C’mon, just think. No more responsibilities. Just endless fun, forever, ‘til the end of time. And, finally, I could say…”

“Um… u-uh” Dipper stammered, wringing his hands together.

Wendy smiled at him.

“I… I love you, Dipper. I always have.”

She held out her hand.

“C’mon, let’s… let’s at least shake on it. I know what you’re thinkin’, it’ll get ya in trouble, but… that’s what makes it fun, dummy.”

Dipper swallowed hard. He felt something in his throat, the size of an apple… but it wasn’t pleasant, it was… thorny.

Seeing everything before him… all the pieces of the puzzle fit together. It was so clear. He felt like a moron for not noticing it before. Now he was trapped with no way out.

_This… this isn’t Wendy…_

The dull axe. The tree. The chemical rag. The coffee. The sunglasses.

His eyes, when he’d been possessed.

_No… no, no, no, not Wendy, of all people…_

“Um… s-so, heh… i-if I’m gonna shake on this…” Dipper said, trembling, “I-I feel like I should see your eyes. Could you take off those sunglasses?”

Wendy blanched. Her smile faded almost immediately.

“...Why? What’s the big deal, dude? They’re just sunglasses.”

Dipper steeled himself. He tensed up. He could feel a sting in his eyes. He _wanted_ to be wrong. He really did.

“Wendy, please. Take them off. I’m begging you.”

Wendy was frowning now. The hand she still held out was starting to quaver with… some emotion. He couldn’t tell what.

“Dipper, you’re being really weird about this, yanno that? I-I’m making, like… I said I _love_ you, man! What more do ya want?”

Dipper took a sharp breath.

“Wendy. I’m not asking. Take. Them. _Off.”_

Now she was clearly getting agitated. Her frown turned into a scowl. Her hand turned into a fist, for just a moment.

“Oh my _God,_ why are you so freakin’ stubborn?! Just _shake my hand,_ already, Pine Tree!”

Dipper’s jaw dropped. He felt all the air in his lungs escape.

In a flash, he reached out and snatched the sunglasses off her face.

She didn’t make a noise, or even try to stop him. Like she had been expecting it.

Her eyes, they were… bigger than before. They were almost popping out of her skull. They were glowing a faint gold. Her pupils had transformed into black slits.

In less than a second, her face twisted into a hellish grin, like all the grinning she’d done before had just been practicing for this. He could see her gums. Drool began to dribble from her chin.

“Oh, _no…”_ Dipper croaked under his breath, both in fear and despair.

Then Wendy spoke.

“Heh… w **e** ll, it **wa** s fun w **hi** le **it las** ted, **I gues** s,” she said, as her voice warped and distorted into something… different. “Bu **t yan** no **what?!** I'm **tired of subtl** ety! **This** lum **berjill is** rea **lly up for CHOPPING DOWN A _PINE TREE."_** **  
**

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will confess, I hadn't originally planned on this being a cliffhanger, but... it just felt right. More torturous that way, I spose. :V
> 
> Also, I apologize to any Wendip shippers who found this chapter particularly painful to read through. I swear on my life, I have nothing against that ship, Bill's just being a manipulative ass and I felt like playing on Dipper's old crush would be the kind of low blow he'd go for. I feel like I should establish this now since Pacifica's gonna get involved (and yes, there's implied Dipcifica, but I don't plan on giving it much focus, it's just kinda there. I generally don't do shipping).
> 
> Also also, yes, I imagine that Bill has access to some of his power while possessing someone, and that's why he was trying to get Dipper to shake Wendy's hand - he couldn't make a Deal with him, but he could do something else that Dipper wouldn't like.
> 
> Also also also, I know I generally use stand-in names for films and products - like Basin Puppies - but I couldn't think of a decent stand-in for Peter Pan that would retain the intended impact of Wendill's ruminations, and I figured it was old and iconic enough to be exempt from the Bland-Name Product rule. :V


	9. The Pine Tree And The Lumberjill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dipper tries to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno why, but I was having some serious writer's block with this chapter, which is why there's such a huge gap between this and the last one. It probably didn't help that I had an idea of how it would go, but then halfway through I decided I didn't like it and completely changed it - and pretty much the rest of the story alongside it. I have to start making solid plot outlines in advance. But then... on the other hand, I find Writing By The Seat Of One's Pants to be kinda stimulating? I dunno, let me know your opinions on this in the comments. :V
> 
> Also, this is my first attempt at writing Bill, so yeah. He does go on a bit. Maybe that's why I had writer's block.

Dipper’s hands scrabbled at the door handle before he even knew what he was doing.

“C’mon, _c’mon!”_ he unconsciously muttered under his breath, as he pulled at it, as hard as he could - he felt like he might snap the handle off. The door wouldn’t budge. Of _course,_ it was locked. Why wouldn’t it be?

He was winded in seconds - and suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder, as he was forced to turn around. The top of Wendy’s axe handle had been jabbed hard into him, angled in such a way that the blade was inches away from his gut.

He had no choice but to look back into Wendy’s eyes… no, not Wendy. Wendy was gone. He was talking to Bill Cipher now.

**“Yanno, it’s not too late!”** Bill said, still twisting his friend’s face into that hellish grin, **“when I make an offer, I stick to it!** **_C’moooon,_ ** **shake my hand! Or don’tcha love your** **_girlfriend_ ** **anymore?”**

“GET _OFF_ OF ME!” Dipper snapped, trying to push away the axe handle - to no avail. “WHAT HAVE YOU _DONE_ TO HER?!”

Bill glanced off to the side, tapping Wendy’s chin, as if contemplating something. **“Weeeell, first of all I trained her to sound exactly like me, then I gave her some neat contact lenses, and- whaddya think I did?! For a ‘smart kid’, you’re pretty dumb!”** Bill said with a laugh, looking back at him. 

**“Ice Bag here thought she was a tough cookie, could back-sass me for days! But as it turned out, she barely knew me! You flesh-sacks are so desperate for answers, and she was no exception! Ol’ Fordsy’s been keepin’ so many so secrets from everyone, all I had to do was ‘fill in the gaps’ and she** ** _melted!_** **‘Course, bringing up her dead mom probably helped!** ** _HAAAAH!”_** He screeched - no other word for it - slapping his host’s knee.

Dipper tried to close his eyes and clasped his hands tight over his ears - a childish attempt to block him out, sure, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t listen to a word this demon said, he wouldn’t allow himself, but at the same time, he couldn’t contain his natural curiosity. 

“I don’t… wh-what do you even want from us?! It’s _over,_ okay?! You’ve _lost!_ The rift’s been contained!”

Bill gasped with fake shock. **“Oh** **_NO!_ ** **Welp!”** he threw Wendy’s free arm in the air, **“guess that’s that! Billions of years of planning down the crapper, all thanks to some fancy bubblegum!”** he said, giving an exaggerated sigh. **“I’ll just pack my bags and- yanno what, I’m not even gonna** **_pretend_ ** **to humour that! That alien adhesive is tough, but it’s not invincible! Besides, d’you have any idea how** **_close_ ** **I am right now?”** he leaned in, pinching Dipper by the cheek and giving him a shake. _“_ **Your own** **_sister_ ** **almost gave me that rift! It was** **_literally_ ** **right at my fingertips!”**

Dipper felt his trembling get even worse, no matter how much he tried to control it. His breathing was out of control - he tried to focus on something, anything, to ignore what Bill had said. But it was difficult when he was right up in his face, and he could still feel a hot, sharp mark from where he’d been pinched.

He couldn’t ignore it. For what must have been the hundredth time that day, he was in shock.

“Mabel? Sh-she… what are you talking about?!”

 **“You heard me! Even after all this time, you’re still nothing but a puppet to her! She didn't even** **_hesitate_ ** **to hand over the rift when I promised I could make her precious summer last forever! Her summer’s worth more to her than** **_your life!”_ **

Dipper instinctively knew how to respond - it’s _Bill,_ you can’t trust a single word that comes out of his lack of a mouth - but a horrible, hateful, vindictive part of his brain tried to stop the words from coming out. Nonetheless, he persevered.

“Y-y… y-you’re _lying!_ She wouldn’t do that, she… you tricked her!”

Bill snorted in amusement. **“There it is,** **_denial!_ ** **First stage of grief! Face it, kiddo, I’m the only one who really knows you and your family. A selfish, ungrateful sister, a pair of selfish, ungrateful uncles, and then there’s this-”** Bill said, poking his host hard in the chest, **“-selfish, ungrateful bundle o’ hormones! You save her life, and how does she repay you?”**

Suddenly, Bill’s voice shifted back into Wendy’s natural tone. “Why would I _ever_ love a sad, pathetic dork like you? I don’t even _like_ you. Wantin’ to grow up into a paranoid husk livin’ in a dirty basement? Talk about Captain Buzzkill, _dude.”_

“Shut up, _shut up,_ _SHUT UP!_ ” Dipper almost screamed - hearing those words come from Wendy’s voice, but in such a toxic tone, somehow made his skin crawl even more - he felt like the words would turn into worms and wriggle their way into his mind. 

He clenched his hands over his ears again. “I’M NOT DOING IT! I’M _NOT SHAKING YOUR HAND!”_ he yelled. He wasn’t even sure if Bill could do anything to him while possessing Wendy, but there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d oblige him long enough to find out.

Bill simply sighed in his voice again, dragging his host’s hand down her face in exasperation. **“Look kid, I admire your moxie, but you’re forgetting that I’m holding an axe to your chest in a locked truck,”** he said, jabbing the blunt end of the handle into Dipper’s shoulder again. **“You’re not going** **_anywhere_ ** **unless you cooperate! If you’re not gonna shake your so-called girlfriend’s sweaty, fragile hand, then I’ll just call up Fordsy and tell him** **_I’ll chop your head off_ ** **if he doesn’t hand over the rift! Give ya the ol’** **_Tudor divorce!_ ** **”** he emphasized, brushing the sharp end of the axe dangerously close to Dipper’s stomach. **“Ya think that stubborn old sheep would risk Weirdmageddon over** **_one_ ** **little life? ‘Course, if he** **_does,_ ** **then hey, I won’t complain! Either way works for me!”**

The blade of the axe was close enough that Dipper could feel his sweat stop to go around it - and he was sweating a _lot._ He was pretty sure Bill noticed, since several times when Dipper could get a word in, he’d forced Wendy’s face into a look of disgust. As if the dream demon wasn’t already rubbing Dipper’s stupidity in his face enough.

Dipper needed to stop shaking. He was better than this, he’d stared down a _gun_ earlier that day. But of course, that drone didn’t talk to him, making him ask questions to himself he didn’t want to, at the worst possible time. 

Plus, he’d been pretty confident from knocking the automated dropship out of the sky moments beforehand. Not now, not after he’d been an idiot who was fooled into getting into a car with a dream demon. He’d been screwed the moment that door was shut. He should have known something was wrong when the bus hadn’t moved after he woke up. He was supposed to be smart; and if he wasn’t smart, what _was_ he?

So many questions swirled around his head like smoke, clouding everything and making him shake even more.

_‘How do I get out of this?’_

_‘Would Great-Uncle Ford really sacrifice me?’_

_‘Should I have told Mabel about the rift?’_

_‘Is Wendy watching us from the Mindscape right now?’_

_‘How come Ford punched Grunkle Stan for risking the universe, but not me?’_

_‘Should I even be thinking about this right now?’_

**“Still waaaaaaaitin’, kid!”** Bill spoke up, repeatedly poking Dipper in the face. **“Not that I care, I can** **_literally_ ** **wait until this body dies of old age!”**

Dipper couldn’t will himself to bat away the possessed Wendy’s hand, even as it poked him near the eye. It just made those thoughts swirl around even more.

_‘I have to get out’_

_‘I can’t shake his hand’_

_‘If I don’t, he’ll kill me’_

_‘Ford wouldn’t sacrifice me’_

_‘What if he did?’_

_‘Would it even matter?’_

_‘No, it would matter’_

_‘But I screwed up’_

_‘They need you’_

_‘They’re better off without me’_

Then, somehow, above all these thoughts, above the constant shuffling in the driver’s seat as Bill kept poking him, above the clattering of the rain outside, he heard a faint sound. A ‘bang’, almost. Sounded kind of like…

Instinctively, he shoved away the axe and ducked for cover.

The glass at the back of the truck’s cab shattered, followed by the windshield. His ears were filled with the trickling of glass shards against metal, and he could feel pin pricks all over his body as a few shards of glass rained down on him. A few of these pin pricks persisted, probably leaving cuts, the stinging made worse as the rain now made its way inside the truck.

 **_“WHAT WAS THAT?!”_ ** Bill roared as he looked behind him, trying to find the source of the disturbance.

As if a switch had been flipped in Dipper’s mind, he remembered what he’d done when danger had come to him back at the alien crash site. This was no different, even if it was Bill. He came close to dying _several_ times. He just needed an opportunity to act, and now he had one. He just needed to _focus._ What could he do right now?

Wendy… that baseball, the one he had on the bus. He brought it with him, it was in the cupholder in the door next to him.

Before Bill could shift priorities, Dipper grabbed Wendy’s wrist - the one clutching the axe - and with all the force he could, stomped on her hand. He winced for a second, as he heard a snap, as the hand crumpled beneath his foot.

“I-I- _I’M SORRY, WENDY!”_ Dipper blurted out without even realizing, as he turned back to grab the baseball and hurled it into one of the hellish golden eyes currently invading the face of his friend.

 **“OWWW, MY EYE! MY** **_ONE OF TWO EYES!”_ **Bill screamed as the baseball ricocheted off his host’s right eye with a meaty ‘thwack’, leaving a purplish blotch. He instinctively let go of Wendy’s axe to attend to the black eye and the fractured hand he’d just received - good, exactly what Dipper had hoped.

Dipper grabbed the axe, hoisting it up to his chest. It wasn’t as heavy as he was expecting, and he wasn’t sure if that meant the axe was made of lightweight materials or if his training under the Manotaurs had actually improved his core strength. He hoped it was the latter, as he turned to the shattered windshield and used the blade to sweep away errant bits of glass on the bottom. He couldn’t waste too much time, he knew that Bill would only let pain stop him for as long as he couldn’t get a kick out of it - as soon as the window looked safe, he began to clamber through it.

 **“GET BACK HERE, YOU** **_BAG OF SOON-TO-BE MULCH!”_ **Bill shouted, as Dipper felt Wendy’s sweaty, clammy hand grab onto his ankle. Halfway across the threshold into the outdoors, he winced as he felt another tiny speck of glass penetrate his shirt and dig into the side of his torso. The sharp pain gave him a jolt of adrenaline, and on reflex, he kicked his free foot right into his possessed friend’s black eye. Bill yelped and tumbled backwards - knocking over the hot coffee he’d had resting between them right onto his host’s lap.

The horrifying, animalistic, banshee-like _shriek_ that Bill unleashed as he felt the full force of burning liquid against him defied description. Dipper couldn’t help but stop and cover his ears again, out of fear that his eardrums would burst and start bleeding, as if he wasn’t bleeding enough already.

 _‘Oh hell, I hope that doesn’t leave a mark…’_ he thought to himself, knowing that the real Wendy was probably watching all of this from the mindscape. He _still_ had scars on his arm from where Bill had jabbed forks into them...

Once the shriek was finished, Dipper only caught the slightest glimpse of the possessed Wendy’s malformed, pained grimace glaring at him with murderous intent. That was all he needed to push himself off the truck’s hood and clamber down to ground level.

He now found himself in the middle of the road, in the dead of night, with a torrent of rain pouring down on him, feeling like jabbing needles into the cuts the glass had left on him. Luckily Bill had left the truck’s headlights on - just up ahead, he could see the road branched off into a dirt track, presumably leading to that sawmill he was being taken to.

A _pine tree…_ being taken to a _sawmill._ He shuddered at the implications.

Well, it’s not like he had many other options. Shaking off all doubt, he ran in the direction of the dirt track. It wasn’t long before he desperately wished he’d picked up his flashlight on the way out, because he couldn’t see a thing out here. He had to squint his eyes, hoping his vision would adjust to the darkness, at least until he saw another light. At least the brim of his hat shielded his eyes from the rain.

_“...Dipper?”_

For a second, he glanced back at the road behind him, hearing a distant voice calling out his name.

Before he could respond, he heard the truck beside him shudder and rumble, as Bill revved up the engine. You didn’t need to be a genius to know that standing still next to a truck driven by a homicidal demon was probably a bad idea.

Thus, he continued running towards the dirt track, soon hearing wet mud squelch beneath his feet as the gravel disappeared; he almost lost his balance as the mud caught on to his sneakers, very unsuited to these conditions. Every few seconds, he looked behind him, wary of the moment that a steel beast would come for him. Bill had already started backing up, realigning the truck so it could drive in a straight line at him.

As Dipper began to feel the weight of his lungs pushing against his ribs, he could see another light up ahead, a rustic bulb-on-a-log at the head of a t-junction, illuminating a sign reading ‘GRAVITY FALLS SAWMILL - PINING FOR OUR ROOTS SINCE 1850’, and an arrow pointing left, up a slight hill. There was a light coming from behind him now, brightening the scene even further.

Not a moment too soon - the next time Dipper looked back, he was almost blinded by the intensity of the truck’s headlights, now facing him - and it only got more intense by the second. This time he didn’t look back forward - already the sound of the engine was getting louder as the truck made a beeline straight for him.

He knew what he needed to do - he needed to be _brave._ Remember the drone. He swallowed and froze in place, the noise soon becoming unbearable.

Then he leapt out of the way.

If he had been a second too late…

Twisting in mid-air, he landed on his back, skidding against muddy, grassy ground, stopping against a tree stump.

“Oww…” he groaned. For just a moment, he considered how karmically unfair this whole situation was - how is it that he’s found himself defying certain death twice in one day? This summer has been one death-defying moment after another, sure, but now it’s getting beyond ridiculous. All these cuts and bruises are already layered on top of other cuts and bruises he’d gotten mere _hours_ ago! No kid should ever have to go through this crap! To think he’d considered ditching Mabel for _this!_

That line of thought came to a screeching halt when he witnessed the truck crash into the sign, breaking it into pieces and knocking out the bulb illuminating it, leaving the light from inside the truck the only light around. The truck had crashed with such force, its entire rear end briefly jumped into the air. Hearing the sound of twisting metal, crumbling wood and shattered glass, Dipper found himself shaking again, as he allowed his repressed fear to come back, and he felt his heart rate go up again.

“W-Wendy?!” he called out, straining as he got back to his feet. “Wendy, are you okay?!”

Dipper reflexively raised an arm as the truck’s back wheels tried to reverse, only to sink into the deep mud as they impotently spun and sprayed speckles of earth all over him. _Great,_ now he was gonna get an infection on top of everything else.

He really should have gotten moving sooner, which he realized the moment the door flung open, and Wendy’s body slid out and collapsed into the dirt, like a puppet with its strings cut. Dipper recoiled as the battered body, shaking, slowly rose up, now caked in mud - and her eyes were still golden and glowing in the darkness.

**“C’mooon, Pine Tree… come give your spunky ginger girlfriend a** ** _kiss!”_** Bill taunted, throwing Wendy’s arms wide and exaggeratedly puckering her lips, complete with childish kissing noises.

Dipper had resolved to keep running long before Bill finished, but by now he wasn’t sure if it was worth it. The environment around him only served to further hammer in the hopelessness of his situation - covered in mud, pelted with rain, now feeling the cold air and cold water around him on full blast as his dirty clothes clung to his skin and irritated all his untreated injuries. The mud he was walking through wasn’t getting any less thick, he may as well have been running through quicksand. At this stage, he could lose a shoe and he wouldn’t even care.

Finally, he made his way up the incline that he’d been directed towards - and just to add one last nail in the coffin, ahead of him was not a wooden gate he could climb over, but a chain-link fence. With barbed wire at the top. And a sign reading _‘HIPPIES KEEP OUT!_ This fence has been paid for by Northwest Corporate Services™’.

Of _course,_ Preston had to screw him over one last time.

“Oh no, no no NO NO _NO NO!”_ Dipper yelled as he rushed up to the fence. Though a deeper part of his mind had taken a cynical turn, the conscious, active part of his mind was still screaming _‘RUN, RUN AWAY, OR YOU WILL DIE’._ That was hard to turn off. He tried to use the axe to bash the gate, but it didn’t seem to have a padlock or anything. Probably electronically opened from the other side. His arms felt weaker every time he tried to swing at it.

“Ugh… help… HELP… SOMEBODY _HELP…!”_ he tried to scream out, feeling his lungs would shrivel up any second now. He wished he could be brave, but he’d used up all his bravery for the day. First the alien drone, and then the truck. At least with the drone it actually worked. So much being brave did for him now.

**“There’s** **_nowhere left to run,_ ** **kid!”** Bill said, calmly strolling in Dipper’s direction, comically swaying Wendy’s arms like he was a character from an old silent movie. Dipper turned to face him, clutching the axe close to his chest. He tried to say something, but the words dissipated before he could. 

**“What say we bury the hatchet -** **_literally_ ** **\- an’ start over?”** Bill continued, pointing at the axe. **“C’mon, we both know Sixer’s a lost cause, there’s no way he’d sacrifice everythin’ he’s worked on just for his dumb nephew he’s known for less than a month!”**

“Y… sh-shut up, you don’t…” Dipper tried, futilely, to rebuff him again. “Y-you don’t know that! G-great-Uncle Ford, he… he wouldn’t…”

 **“He wouldn’t** **_what,_ ** **Pine Tree? His brother thought he could count on him, an’ look where** **_that_ ** **got him! He’s** **_gone,_ ** **a broken shell of a man! An’ don’t even get me started on ol’ Spectacles, livin’ in a junkyard with a raccoon for a wife! He is walking** **_poison!_ ** **An’ he’s swindled** **_you_ ** **into becoming his puppet an’** **_liking it!_ ** **Face it, kid, he’s no different from me!”**

“I-I-I’m not listening, I’M _NOT LISTENING TO YOU!”_ Dipper yelled, instinctively backing up against the fence behind him as Bill drew ever closer. Perhaps if he did it enough, it could distract him from the fact that he’s lying.

 **“Psh, yeah, whatever you say,”** Bill wasn’t fooled for a second, nonchalantly waving Wendy’s hand. **“Don’t change the fact that I’m right! Everyone wants a piece of you, the world’s best puppet! At least I’m** **_honest_ ** **about it! Besides, what other choice do ya have? You put your life in Fordsy’s hands, you’re signing your own death warrant!”**

Dipper trembled so much, it sent vibrations all across the fence, making it audibly jangle. Almost against his will, he raised the axe further up his chest. “D-don’t… don’t come any closer, or I’ll… I-I-I-I-I…”

 **_“Sheesh,_ ** **you stammer even more than Hourglass. Whaddya gonna do, kid? You** **_care_ ** **about Ice Bag, because somethin’ somethin’ raging hormones.”**

Bill’s pace did not let up. He opened his mouth, and again, he let Wendy’s voice flow from her vocal chords.

“If ya wanna stop me, you’ll have to _KILL ME!”_

Dipper had never felt so useless in his life - even when Bill had possessed _him,_ he could at least take solace in the fact that he couldn’t be cornered. He was a _ghost,_ he could go anywhere, at any time! It was only _that_ that let him find that puppet and contact Mabel. Now he had no choice but to stare down the demon wearing the skin of one of his best friends, and his only hope of escape laid with… no, he couldn’t consider it.

...Maybe if he swung at her legs? No, if it weren’t for Bill’s resistance to pain, she probably wouldn’t even be _standing_ right now. Even if she didn’t die, what if she was crippled for life? She’d never forgive him. He felt like _scum_ for even thinking of it.

_‘Well, you’re scum, anyway’_ a voice in the back of his head said. _‘You know Bill is right. You’re not smart, you’re not even passably competent, you’re just a puppet to be used and discarded.’_

Somehow, he let his mind go blank - those thoughts, they made him go numb. As if his body was on autopilot, once again he raised up the axe. Quaking in his shoes, as though the axe was three times as heavy as it was, he held it aloft, gripping the bottom of the handle. His face contorted from the effort.

**_“That’s it,_ you’re getting smart!” ** Bill beamed, once again throwing Wendy’s arms wide, as if to make her a bigger target. **“Heh, I mean seriously, who’d risk their life for their dumb ‘friend’?”**

_“...Wendy would.”_

With that, Dipper turned on his heels and hurled the axe over the fence. He caught the light of the rain shine against it as it spun off into the clearing beyond, before disappearing from view.

 **“Y-you…”** Bill actually _flinched_ **“YOU** ** _IDIOT!_** **You just threw away your one means of self-defence!”** he said, incredulously, now within poking distance of Dipper. He sounded simultaneously shocked and bemused. **“Congratulations, kid - you** ** _actually_** **surprised me! You’re even dumber than I thought! You’ve gone from ‘braindead slug’ to ‘bag of rocks’!”**

Dipper sharply inhaled, closing his eyes. Eerily calm, he held out his own arms. “I’m not gonna fight you anymore. But I’m still not shaking your hand. Whatever you're gonna do to me, just do it.”

For a moment, Bill almost slumped over, like he’d actually released Wendy’s possession - of course, there was no reason he’d do that, when he had Dipper completely at his mercy. Slowly, he threw Wendy’s head back, letting her tangled, mud-caked hair dramatically sway, and he laughed, straight from the belly, like he’d heard a joke so bad it’s funny.

**“PFFFFFFTHAAAAAAAAAAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA! WELL,** **_DON’T MIND IF I DO!”_ **

Before Dipper could even process what was happening, Bill shoved Wendy’s open palm directly into his face. Clutching it tight, Bill clicked her fingers in her other hand… and in an instant, all sensation drained from Dipper's body, as he saw blackness wash over his vision, his hearing turning to a faint static, then nothing.

Off in the distance, someone watched everything unfold, through the scope of an empty hunting rifle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sidenote - 'Hourglass' is Bill's nickname for Blendin. I know he's not part of the Zodiac, I just like the idea of Bill giving nicknames to everyone he meets.


	10. Brains Vs. Guts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mabel is reunited with an old arts-and-crafts project.

Mabel remembered, when she and Dipper were 10, they took a flight to New York with their parents to visit Grandpa Shermie over the state border in Jersey, and see the sights in NYC along the way. They had a great time, but while in the airport on the way back, Dipper realized he’d forgotten to get some Jersey Devil-themed souvenir - ‘it’s like, the _one_ cool thing about the state!’ he’d said - and none of the duty-free stores in their terminal had anything.

He was _so_ bummed out, Mabel was determined to help him - she suggested that they both make a trek to the next terminal over to see if they had anything there. She knew that their parents would never allow it, of course, so she somehow overcame her aversion to lying - for Dipper’s sake, she told herself - and told them they were just going to the bathroom or something. Then just to reassure her brother, she promised she’d text them once they were on their way, so they knew where they were.

In the next terminal, they found a neat Jersey Devil t-shirt, but the store was busy and they were waiting for nearly half an hour, on top of the ten minutes it took them to walk all the way over there - _sheesh,_ that airport was like a _city,_ it was so stupid-huge. Then when they finally made it to the counter, they discovered they needed their boarding passes to buy anything - which they’d forgotten to bring. Dipper was now more bummed out than ever, because he knew they’d have no time to get the pass and come back - that’d be _three more_ ten-minute walks, and Mabel’s legs felt like floppy sherbert straws, but hey, at least they tried.

That was _nothing_ compared to what awaited them when they got back to their parents.

They were _so mad._ Turned out, for some reason, the texts Mabel had been sending weren’t going through. Bad signal? Terrorists with signal jammers? Gremlins? Nobody knew why, but it didn’t matter. Mom and dad had no idea where they were or what they were doing, and their plane was due to leave in less than an hour. What if something had happened to them? What if they’d been kidnapped, or slipped on a wet floor? Dad accepted Mabel’s explanation that she’d tried to contact them, but he still firmly insisted that she should have been honest with them from the start. 

Mom was not so easily calmed down - she was _livid._ For nearly half an hour, she’d been pacing up and down, dreaming up all manner of nightmare scenarios. She’d even called security to look for them, but they were being kinda stubborn about it, which didn’t help at all. She was _so_ angry, she yelled in their faces; almost gave them an earache. Dipper looked like he was about to break; he obviously felt this was all his fault, he was the one who wanted some stupid t-shirt he could probably buy over the internet anyway. 

Mabel couldn’t allow that - a lot of sisters would gladly let their brother take the heat for them, but not her. Though she had tears in her eyes from guilt, she stepped forward and, fighting that stupid lump in her throat the whole way, admitted that she’d had the idea to wander off to begin with and Dipper shouldn’t be punished for _her_ mistake. That seemed enough to calm mom down - in the end, Dipper got off with a week’s grounding (since he still willingly went along with the whole dumb plan), and Mabel got two, which mom stressed was _light_ \- if she hadn’t taken responsibility, they’d have probably been grounded for a whole _month._

When they got back home, mom explained to them the reason _why_ she was so mad - she wasn’t _just_ mad at the kids for wandering off without telling them why or where they were going, she was mad at herself. She was worried that she was a horrible parent who’d let her kids disappear, and she wasn’t doing enough to help them. She swore that there was no way they’d leave the kids at the airport - if they’d missed their flight, whatever, they’d stay there overnight if they had to; and she’d have still been mad at the end of it all. It wasn’t bad anger, it was _necessary_ anger. Anger born of love. 

_‘Maybe when you’re older, and your kids went missing - or if you don’t have any, then your friends, or even your brother… you’ll understand.’_

Right now, as Mabel laid awake in bed, again - she felt like she understood; and it only took two years.

She’d been woken up by her future self’s snoring. That, and her tossing and turning in her sleep, making the mattress squeak. Mabel had tried to ignore it, but even without those noises, the ambient clattering of the rain outside against the attic window kept her _just_ on the edge of ‘peaceful’.

Then her future self started talking in her sleep.

“Mmmnnngh… n-no… Dipper, I’m sorry…”

That’s what led Mabel to remember the ‘Airport Incident’, as it was now known. Just like mom must have felt, there was an instinct buried inside her, telling her to be mad at her brother. It must be _wayyyy_ past midnight right now, and as far as she knew, he still hadn’t come back from… whatever it was he was doing. She couldn’t be mad at him, though - she’d already hurt him enough today, being mad at him felt like disproportionate retribution. Maybe he’d run away from her, and could she blame him? If she was gonna be mad at anyone, she’d _definitely_ be mad at herself, for being a poor sister whose final interaction with him had been to scream at him like the big baby she is and run off into the woods.

Grunting with irritation, she lifted the covers off herself again and clambered off the bed, gingerly stepping over Waddles as she slipped into some sneakers she’d left by him, and walked over to the attic door. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, she just felt… she couldn’t lie in bed right now while her brother was out there. There’s no way she’d leave him hanging. She needed to at least make a token effort.

The thought of going outside to look around the Shack for him crossed her mind, and just thinking of the weather made her shiver - then again, that might have been the cool storm air seeping in. Since she was standing next to the closet anyway, she opened it up and reached in for her pile of sweaters, grabbing the first one she touched. In the darkness, it looked like a blob of… shadowy voidy stuff, and when she turned it over, she saw it had an image of a cartoon skull on it.

Oh yeah, this was the one she was gonna wear tomorrow… which she supposed was now _today._ Shrugging, she pulled it on, permitting herself a smirk. If there was _ever_ a good time to go through a goth phase, this was it.

Stepping out into the hall, she carefully made her way downstairs, once again tip-toeing to avoid creaking the floorboards. Not just to avoid waking Grunkle Stan, but also to avoid alerting any monsters hiding in the darkness. Of course, having had direct experience with such monsters didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid of them anymore, it just meant she wasn’t _completely_ paralyzed by the dark.

She passed through the kitchen and the living room - Blendin was still asleep at the ‘time-party time-table’, and Soos, since he didn’t have his truck, had decided to spend the night in Stan’s armchair, and had dozed off watching a _Tiger Fist_ rerun - before finally opening the front door.

Receiving a blast of cool air as she walked out onto the front porch, that almost served as a wakeup call. She didn’t know what she was even doing out here. It’s not like Dipper was just playing hide-and-seek. He didn’t even _like_ hide-and-seek!

“Um… Dipper?” she called out, ignoring all of those pesky inconvenient thoughts. She’s _Mabel Pines,_ darnit, she goes with her gut! “Dipper? Y-you… you out there?”

As she expected, she received no response. She kept talking. Maybe she hoped the wind would carry her voice to wherever he was.

“Dipper, please, come home! ...I’m _sorry!”_

She let that echo across the woods for about ten seconds, and stood there motionlessly, admiring the raindrops scattered across her future self’s Mabel-Mobile. The sight of the van did get her to relax a little - she had to admit, it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d wanna drive. Well, admittedly, she’d hoped she might have a sports car or something a bit fancier, but she’d take something that was unmistakably _hers_ over some overpriced Biscotti any day of the week.

That moment of relaxation segued into a sigh, as she slumped. “Ugh, what am I even _doing_ out here?” she asked herself. Voices don’t even carry on the wind, that was probably, like… unicorn propaganda. Maybe after almost _ending the world,_ she should start listening to her _brain_ rather than her gut.

Admitting that she was wasting her time, she headed back inside. She still didn’t go back to bed, though - that in itself was probably a waste of time. Instead, she headed back to the kitchen. Doing her best to ignore the wafty stench of icky grown-up beverages in the air, or the snoring of the time-travel guy in the corner, she opened her sugar cupboard - grateful that, unlike mom and dad, Grunkle Stan made no attempt to put all the candy out of reach - and pulled out a bag of pink-and-white marshmallows. With a slightly dissonant look of angry determination on her face, she tore the bag open and began shovelling marshmallows into her mouth, without even the slightest consideration for her braces, how full her mouth was already, or the possibility of a stomach-ache come sunrise.

“OM… om nom _nom,_ nom nom _NOM…”_

 _Yes._ This is what she’d needed ever since she’d run away with that stupid rift in the first place. Sugar gave her life when she’s got none, she remembered. Yet she hadn't had anything sweet since… yesterday’s breakfast? Unless you count that one Pitt Cola back at Greasy’s, which she didn’t, really. She had no idea what she’d do after she’d inevitably emptied the entire bag in one go, but right now she didn’t care. She just savoured that sweet, starchy, vaguely strawberry-ish taste.

“Psst… Mabel! _Mabel!”_

Mabel froze in mid-chew, her mouth still hanging open, exposing the half-eaten marshmallow goop strung about in there. That voice, it was… close. And _familiar…_

“Dude, turn _around!”_ it whispered at her again, frantically.

She did just that - and before she even knew what she was looking at, she yelped, startled, and almost fell on her butt, dropping the marshmallows on the floor.

She could barely make it out in the darkness - before her was a floating… sock puppet. One of the little googly-eyed ones she made for her dumb ‘Sock Opera’. Looked like it had a mop of red strings made to resemble hair, with a cute little trapper hat on top. She thought she’d destroyed all of them, but there were probably _hundreds_ of spares. Must have figured she’d need them if she and that creep Gabe actually hit it off, and she started touring or some junk. She shuddered at the mere thought of actually staying with a guy who makes out with his puppets.

“Mabel, it’s me, Wendy!” the sock puppet said, comically flapping its mouth up and down - sure enough, that _was_ Wendy’s voice, if a bit echo-y. “I-I’m… no, _we’re_ in deep, _deep_ trouble, man!”

Mabel gingerly picked up the marshmallows, clutching them close to her chest - probably in lieu of a safety blanket. _“Wendy?_ But… you’re so much more of a _sock_ than usual! _Wait…”_ she stopped as she idly twirled a messy lock of hair, going over the whole Sock Opera mess in her mind again. It _wasn’t_ one of her best moments, and she often tried to sweep it under the rug of her mind - but of course, that was the wrong thing to do.

“Why am I getting a feeling of… what’s it called… digi voodoo?”

“Uh… deja vu?” the Wendy puppet suggested.

“That’s it! You haven’t… but if… that must… oh no, no no no _no…”_ Mabel backed up against a cupboard, trembling, as she realized the implications floating in front of her. “It’s _Bill,_ isn’t it? He took your body, didn’t he?”

“Ugh, _yes…_ read me like a book. I’m such an _idiot…”_ Sock-Wendy lamented, somehow making her cotton body’s pipe-cleaner arms clutch her face in despair - which looked a little weird since she was otherwise incapable of conveying any emotion.

“B-but… _how?_ Don’tcha need to make, like, a _deal_ for him to do that?” Mabel asked, still somehow keeping her voice down.

“W-well… yeah, like… the thing is… _ugh,_ look, I can’t explain right now, there’s no time! We have to _GO!”_

Mabel’s eyes - previously bleary and half-lidded from the lack of sleep - shot open. “Wh-what?! Go where?! What are you talking about?!”

 _“MABEL!”_ Sock-Wendy almost raised her voice, floating right up to Mabel’s face and grabbing her nose. “It’s _Dipper,_ dude! Bill, he… h-he… he took him, Bill _took him!”_

Mabel dropped the marshmallows again. _“WHAT?!”_ she went, _now_ raising her voice. “Whaddya mean he ‘took him’?! Ya don’t mean-”

_“NO!_ No no no, not _that!”_ Sock-Wendy stressed, waving her pipe-cleaner arms around. “Nah, he’s not… a-at least, not _yet…_ look, that golden jerk took my body an’ tricked Dipper into getting in a car with him, and now he’s at the sawmill, and I dunno what he’s doin’ to him, and… a-and… oh God, _he should have killed me!”_

“Wendy, please, I-I don’t know what you’re saying!” Mabel said, still trembling like an earthquake, fighting her instincts to go huddle in the corner and scream at herself. “Look, ya said he was at some sawmill, right? Then let’s _go,_ like you said! I-I… he’s alive! He’s _alive,_ he _has_ to be! I won’t let him _not_ be alive!”

With a renewed sense of purpose, Mabel stormed back outside as fast as she could, not even caring to avoid the creaky floorboards. She was running for where she last saw the golf cart. Sock-Wendy floated after her.

“Mabes, wait up!” the puppet called over, as she rushed out into the rain, barely even feeling the sharp jabs of rainwater all over her. “Shouldn’tya tell Stan?! Or Soos, or… the other Stan?!”

Mabel almost froze in mid-stride upon hearing ‘the other Stan’. She felt her face get hot, and she whirled around, clenching her teeth together.

“I am _not_ talking to _him.”_

At the sight of her - in the rain, wearing a skull sweater, with a very out-of-character look of undisguised contempt on her face, Sock-Wendy somehow recoiled despite not having a body with which to recoil. If Mabel could see herself, she considered, she’d probably think she looked like an evil psycho doppelganger from another dimension. Like… the ‘Anti-Mabel’ or something.

“Woah… um… _okay…_ I guess you an’ Stan Two aren’t cool right now, huh?”

“No. We are _not_ cool.”

There were not enough marshmallows in the _world_ to rival the amount of sugar she was coating her words with right now.

“Understood,” Sock-Wendy ‘nodded’, thankfully not feeling the need to press that wound any further, “but still, shouldn’tya tell someone where you’re goin’?”

“Wendy, Dipper _needs_ me!” Mabel stressed, the look of fury on her face melting away, “A-and… and I need _him!_ We have to go _right now!”_

“B-but what if Bill- you don’t have a weapon or anythin’! What if he takes _you,_ too?!”

Mabel breathed in, ready to retort, but remembering her earlier promise to herself to start using her brain more often, she was forced to admit that Wendy had a point. She’d rushed out here without even _thinking,_ all it took was ‘he took him’ and out she went. She only had the vaguest semblance of a plan right now - get in the golf cart, find Dip-Dop, grab him and drive off into the sunset! Uh, sunrise. But if Bill had kidnapped him, he probably wasn’t gonna let them go without a struggle; and if Bill was in Wendy’s body, she doubted it’d be as easy to defeat him as last time.

“Hmm…” she brushed her chin. “Wendy, random question - are you ticklish?”

“Um, not really?”

_“Darn!”_

Well, so much for that.

As it turned out, the problem with listening to your brain is that, while your gut generally tells you to do one thing, your brain will argue with itself. One part of Mabel’s brain agreed with Wendy; thinking back to the Airport Incident, a lot of trouble could have been avoided if she had just told the grown-ups what she was doing - _‘what if he takes you too?!’_ reminded her a lot of _‘what if you’d been kidnapped, or slipped on a wet floor?!’_. 

Then another part of her brain told her that this isn’t about a dumb t-shirt, this is a matter of life or death - every second she wastes now is a second something horrible could happen to her brother. She’s in the same position _mom_ was in - no holding back, just find Dipper, at any cost. It just so happened that _this_ part of her brain was what agreed with her gut right now.

She _could_ do with a weapon, though… and as she glanced over at the Mabel-Mobile, she remembered...

“I got it! In there-” she said, pointing at the van’s almost-open window (as it turned out, they really needed re-sealing, the windows kept sliding down by themselves) “-is this… _super_ grappling hook thingy! If you can wr… wr-wriggle in… brrrrr, _so cold…”_ she shivered, suddenly becoming acutely aware that she was out in the rain in a thick woolen sweater - _already_ it was starting to feel heavy, like she’d sink into the ground. As if she didn’t already feel like sinking from all the pressure she was under.

Thankfully, Sock-Wendy - herself starting to get soggy - understood the general gist of what Mabel was getting at. She floated off to the open window, squeezing inside the van. Mabel wrapped her arms around herself as she rushed over to the golf cart nearby, still covered in tape and patches of fresh paint from the repairs after those zombies almost tore it to pieces. Soos had always left the keys in the ignition since then, in case of another zombie attack - they were lucky no-one had tried to steal it.

Mabel sat down and took shelter under the roof, trying to huddle in on herself. Wasn’t ideal - rain still blew in from the sides - but it was an improvement. She could feel goosebumps all over her skin, scratching awfully against her clothes, but she had to bear through it. She couldn’t afford to think of _anything_ but saving Dipper right now. In her future self’s timeline, Dipper had gone through three days of _hell_ to save her from Bill’s clutches. Until she’d gone through the same ordeal for him, then she could just suck it up, as far as she’s concerned. 

Soon, Sock-Wendy squeezed back out of the Mabel-Mobile, carrying with her the _Grappling Hook 2_ in her mouth - in any other circumstance, seeing a floating googly-eyed sock puppet with a huge rifle gadget swinging out its mouth by the handle would have probably made her giggle. Instead, she expectantly leaned forward, holding out her hands.

“Mmmn gnnn thrrrrf,” the sock tried to say.

“What?”

“HNNG CNMM THRR, MM GNNN THRRRF!”

_“What?!”_

Giving a muffled sigh, the invisible arm Sock-Wendy was attached to wound up, clearly about to throw the thing over. Mabel was only startled for a moment - more out of the apparent pointlessness of the action - before readying herself to catch it. Sure enough, it soared through the air, and landed in Mabel’s widespread arms.

“Ugghhh…” Sock-Wendy groaned, “I’da carried it to ya, but I kinda can’t… w-well, just watch!”

As Mabel was still getting to grips with the warm grappling gun in her hands, Sock-Wendy tried to float over to her - only to bash into a suddenly-appearing wall of pink light separating them, complete with a ‘clong’ as though she’d just walked into a steel wall.

“Oh, _right…”_ Mabel said, rolling her eyes, immediately figuring out what it was. “Unicorn barrier. Even when they’re being accidentally _helpful,_ they gotta be jerks about it!”

“I know, right?” Sock-Wendy said. “Before y’ask, I found a way in here by- I’ll show ya, but I gotta ditch this puppet first. Then you can bring it through, an’ I’ll be back. Got it?”

Mabel nodded. Sock-Wendy gave a cute little salute, and the puppet went limp seconds later, falling lifelessly to the ground below. Mabel _could_ have walked over to pick it up, but considering the grappling gun in her hands, instead took the opportunity to test it out.

She hit the one button she’d already hit earlier, making the ‘claw’ of the grapple open with a ‘pwoing’ - hitting it again made it close with a ‘snap’. If it worked anything like her Grappling Hook Classic, holding down the trigger would extend the cable, and then holding it again would retract it.

Taking a deep breath, she aimed at the sock on the ground like she was the action heroine her bandage-bandanna implied, and fired away, timing her button press to clutch it within less than a second after the claw was fired, zipping out with a surprising burst of recoil. ...Maybe it’d be more accurate to call it a ‘clawshot’? Once she’d snapped the claw shut and the sock was secure in its grasp, she retracted it - and as it ‘clunked’ back into place, the force almost knocked her over. She noticed the blinky blue lights had turned red just before she retracted it - guess that recoil explained the extra safety measures.

She permitted herself another smirk as she took the puppet in her hand. Yes, this was _perfect._ Who needs adult supervision when you have a _super clawshot?_

At that point, the lifeless Sock-Wendy wriggled, as if an invisible force was trying to get inside it - which Mabel quickly realized was exactly what it was. She let go, and the puppet was floating again.

“Sweet! You really showed that… um… _me!_ I guess!” Sock-Wendy said, jubilantly pumping a pipe-cleaner fist. “But yeah, I’m a liiiiitle, like… that van, does it belong to that weird lady I saw sleepin’ in your bro’s bed?”

Mabel gasped, indignantly slapping a palm over her chest. “Wendy! That ‘weird lady’ is _me!_ From the future!”

“Oh! _...Huh…_ guess it’s a long story?”

Mabel only blew a raspberry as she turned the golf cart’s ignition, feeling the weak electric motor… ‘rumble’ would be an overstatement, more like ‘whirr’ or ‘buzz’. “Long story, schmong schmory! She came back in time from 2022 to stop the apocalypse, then she put me in hospital - which was _totally_ my fault - and brought me back here. Easy!”

“Right, I gotcha,” Sock-Wendy nodded. “Too bad, woulda been rad to put all that apocalypse trainin’ to use. A-anyway, it’s just that I could only get through the Unicorn barrier ‘cause she- uh, _you…_ there was some weird mind-verse beam shootin’ outta your brain, an’ it made a hole or somethin’ I could get through. Dunno what was up with that, but you were havin’ some _serious_ nightmares…”

Mabel did let herself get spooked for a brief moment, but quickly waved it off. _“Yeah,_ there’s somethin’ she’s not telling me, but I can ask her later! Right now, we got a nerdy twin to save! _To the sawmill!_ Lead the way, Wendy Sock-duroy! Or… Cordu-sock! Cordurock?”

“Cordurock sounds cool.”

With that, Mabel put on her best look of _righteous fury_ and put the pedal to the metal, and with the squelching of mud beneath the tires, the golf cart buzzed into life, the headlights carving a path into the darkness.

_Hang in there, bro-bro. I’m coming for you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'Airport Incident' is actually loosely based on something that happened to me once. It didn't end so dramatically, there were no tears or life lessons - chiefly because I was considerably older than Dipper & Mabel at the time, I'm slightly embarassed to admit.
> 
> Was starting to feel like I was overdoing the Mabel angst; admittedly this chapter was an attempt to counteract that by letting her be a bit more proactive. From her point of view this whole day has just been one gut punch after another, so she's not been having much chance to be her usual self. Hopefully it'll be satisfying when she gets to actually be happy again. :V


End file.
